Shift
by CeruleanRoses
Summary: For Bree Evans, the apocalypse hit during a school trip to Atlanta. Separated from her schoolmates and desperate to find answers about her missing family, the college student stumbles upon Negan's Sanctuary. She finds out the hard way that, during the apocalypse, the living are to be feared more than the living dead. Eventual MerlexOC, slight NeganXOC.
1. The Outbreak

**(A/N: ANOTHER old story I've had decaying on my laptop that I've been way too nervous about posting online. I mean, it's THE WALKING DEAD. I know people get serious about this show, so I was scared about putting this up. Well, I got over it! Here's a random story featuring some OCs. I apologize in advance about the number of OCs in this first chapter. *cries into hands*)**

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**Ch. 1: Bree – The Outbreak**

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**I** _really _wish I would have brought my headphones.

There's nothing worse than getting stuck on a six-hour drive in a bus filled with strangers and you don't even have your headphones. Take it from me. I'm experiencing the pain of being headphone-less right at this very moment.

I sulk at my fully charged iPod and heave a sigh that allows my body to sink even lower into the soft seat that the charter bus provides each of its passengers. Just thinking of my precious pair of no brand but very reliable headphones sitting at home makes me want to sob. Another mopey sigh escapes my mouth as my knees find their way to the back of the seat that is in front of me. I lean my head back and turn it just slightly so that I can keep myself occupied by staring out of my window at the passing scenery. It is slightly reminiscent of the times my family and I would take long road trips and I would scan the outside world for how many red cars we passed, what kind of shapes the clouds felt like forming that day, or who was picking their nose while driving. It was all in effort of keeping myself entertained. Technology wasn't as big as it is now. Seriously, how did any of us survive back then without cell phones with apples on them and laptops that break apart without really _breaking_?

Outside of my glass window lies the green tops of trees and shrubbery that pass by at lightning speed. Every now and then, there's a break in the forestry and I get a glimpse of a few scattered houses in the distance, maybe a brown river with muddy banks. The sky is unusually dark for this time of day. It's barely 9AM and there's an ominous shadow covering the normally blue sky like a thick sheet of black. I blink worriedly. I hope it's not going to rain.

I notice my reflection in the grimy window and offer it a tiny smile, which it happily returns. I swipe at my dark bangs, trying to push them behind my toffee-colored ear. My bangs have gotten too long to stay over my forehead now. Any attempt at keeping them there is a one-way ticket to resembling the girl from _The Ring_. They stay put for a moment before quickly dropping back over my eyes. My red lips tug down into a grumpy frown. It's a real love-hate relationship with these things. I blow upwards, causing my bangs to flutter and then relax back into my seat to resume staring out of the window. The sky remains dark.

My community college decided to give a few lucky students a free trip to Atlanta to watch the Braves play in a game, which is why I'm on this bus. Coming from a small town in Florida, I always leap at the chance to travel. It doesn't matter where it is, I'll take the chance if it's affordable. And who can't afford free? Unfortunately, I might have not thought this through before signing up. None of my friends signed up, and the ones that did sign up decided to cancel at the last minute. This is how I find myself riding in a bus filled with people but somehow feeling depressingly alone.

"Having fun?"

The unfamiliar voice comes as a surprise to me. I almost don't look up, fearing that the person isn't speaking to me. When they repeat themselves, I risk looking up.

A guy my age grins down at me from over the seat. He looks a lot more relaxed than I do. His arm is slung over the seat and his green eyes gleam with excitement. An easy grin is slathered across his tanned face.

"Hey," he greets me with a lazy lift of his chin.

I sit up in my seat, caught off-guard. Somehow, I managed to snag a seat behind this totally adorable person in front of me. The dimples in his cheeks wink at me and I find my cheeks warming under his unwavering stare. Habitually, my fingers push my bangs aside again. This time, they stick.

I swallow down my nervousness while trying to work a smile on my face. It's difficult. My being in the presence of a guy I find attractive is the equivalent of a lone soldier facing down an entire army. I simply stand no chance of getting out of this unscathed and without making a fool out of myself.

"Yeah!" I lie in a voice that is ten times higher than it normally is. I clear my throat and try again. "Yeah, I'm having a great time." I don't even sound convincing to my own ears, so it comes as no surprise when Dimples laughs at me.

The dimples in his cheek only grow with his laugh. "You sure don't look like it," he postulates. "You look like you're headed into war instead of a baseball game."

I can't help but laugh at this. I relax a bit in my chair and offer him a shrug of my shoulders and a grin. My bangs fall in front of my face as I go to speak, so I'm forced to pause and swipe them away. Dimples laughs again and I can feel my hand begin to shake. Oh no, I'm starting to get nervous. I hate being under a guy's scrutiny for too long. I start getting all _nervous_, and acting all _weird_ and then everything starts falling apart like a giant house of cards. It's not a pretty sight. I take a few mental deep breaths and put a renewed smile back in place. "I don't really know anyone here, so I guess I'm not feeling that excited. Plus, I don't really like baseball."

Dimples looks astonished. He turns his body even more so that he can see me better. He also gives me a better view of him, lucky me! Sinewy muscles with dragon tattoos imprinted on them bulge out of a short-sleeved white tee. He looks as if he plays sports. No wonder he's on this trip. He has a reason, unlike me. "You don't like baseball?" he asks. "What made you come on the trip, then? Especially if you don't know anyone here…?"

"Travelling," I say almost instantly. "I like going places and this was a good opportunity to do that."

Dimples nods, but the look on his face tells me he's still puzzled. He folds his arms together on top of the seat. The corner of his mouth lifts up a bit. "So," he begins in a lilting voice. "Who are you going to sit by at the game?"

I shrug again. I hadn't really thought about that. I figured I would just sit wherever there was an empty seat and wave my foam finger around, pretending I actually cared that a guy hit a ball with a stick. After telling Dimples this much, he gives another chuckle.

"You can sit by me," he says. After a pause, his cheeks tint an adorable shade of pink and he adds, "…I-If you want to, I mean."

How could I say no when someone asks me like that? A nervous giggle escapes my lips and I bunch my shoulders up. "O-Okay!" I say with another bout of astonished laughter. I clear my throat and try again, hoping to come across as more nonchalant this time. "I mean, yeah, sure. That sounds great." Ugh. I turn into such a geek when cute guys get involved. But hey, look who gets to sit by said cute guy?

A relieved smile eases onto Dimples face. He offers me his hand. "Darren Wilshire," he says. It sounds like the name of an aristocrat instead of a college student with tattoos.

"I'm Bree Evans," I reply while taking his hand in mine. It's warm and not at all rough like I imagined his hands to be. He gives my hand a shake. I beam up at my new companion, happy to have made a friend for our trip. Maybe I won't be as alone as I thought I would be.

Suddenly, the bus screeches to a halt. I'm thrown against the seat in front of me, smashing my face into the leather, while Darren is sent flying backwards. Startled screams sound throughout the bus as everyone falls out of their seats from the sudden stop. I find myself wedged in the area where your feet are supposed to go, nursing a massive headache.

"Is everyone okay?" I hear our bus monitor shouting above all of the noise that has erupted in the bus. I pull myself out of the tight area my body had been wedged into and stand up to get a look at everyone else's condition. Everyone has been scattered around the bus with their assorted belongings. Spilled, colorful candy rains down the aisle, blankets hang over seats, and crushed cell phones lay unclaimed.

I hear Darren curse from in front of me. He stands up and straightens up his outfit before casting me a worried look. "Are you okay?" he asks.

I pat down myself, checking for any sore spots. The only thing that really hurts is my head.

I shake my head. "Yeah, I'm good," I inform him after my inspection.

I turn my attention to the bus monitor, who is trying her best to remain calm and keep everyone else calm as well. Her dark eyes are wild and panicked as they bounce from student to student.

"Everyone, calm down," the middle-aged brunette orders from the front of the bus. "We were forced to slam on the brakes because of a roadblock. We'll be moving as soon as we can."

Distorted grumbles meet her words. The disheveled students pull themselves up from the ground and get situated back into their seats. I stay standing. I want to know just why the heck we stopped in the middle of the interstate. It's typically not a good place to slam on your brakes. I'm surprised our bus didn't get ran over by a speedy semi.

"What's going on?" one girl asks from the back of the bus. I opted to sit in the front, since everyone knows that the back of the bus is not the place you sit when you're trying to zone out.

The bus monitor peers out of the front window. Whatever she sees out there is enough to make her face pale. She shakes her head, causing her long ponytail to swish behind her like a bundle of noodles.

"I don't know," she admits. "There are a lot of cops out there, though. I'll go get us an answer." The bus driver opens the door and the bus monitor exits the bus. Immediately, the noise level in the bus shoots from stunned silence to annoyed yelling.

"We're going to miss the game!" one boy roars while slamming his fist against the seat in front of him. He's breathing heavily, like a bomb ready to explode. Wow, dude needs a chill pill. The Braves game is not _that _serious. The two girls seated in front of him turn around and the group engages in a heated argument, adding to the noise level. The girls look ready to tear him a new one.

A lanky girl I recognize as one of the softball players from our college stands up and edges to the front of the bus, where Darren, his friends, a couple of other loners, and I are seated. She just about presses her freckled nose to the glass of the front window. Her cornflower blue eyes squint from behind her square glasses. "It's a darn madhouse out there," she mutters with a slight Southern twinge to her husky voice. "Looks like the apocalypse or somethin'."

That doesn't sound good.

I have to know what's going on out there so I climb out of my seat and join her, along with half of the bus. What I find myself staring at is shocking. The entire interstate has been cut off by policemen in uniform and orange roadblocks. Dozens of cars form a line in front of us, each of them blaring their horns. Some of them have crashed into the one in front of them. Angry drivers stand outside of their car, shouting at the policeman and each other. Past the roadblocks is nothing but gray fog. It is so dense, I can't make out anything except for it.

"Did they really stop us because of fog?" I hear Darren whisper from beside me. I look over and find him shaking his head and looking extremely pissed. "You've got to be kidding me."

I glance back at my window and wipe my sleeve across a small section of it, clearing it of some of the grime that is caked there. Now, I can just make out our bus monitor in the distance. Her brightly-colored baseball cap is the only speck of color in the impending fog that I can discern. She's engaging in a heated conversation with one of the policeman and neither of them are backing down. Her lean arms swing towards the fog while she continues to shout at the police. He matches her angry demeanor and points back at the bus. Finally, the bus monitor gives up and marches back to the bus. Everyone greets her with questions, all of which she ignores.

Her pasty face is red and her expression reads as "extremely ticked off". She decides to answer the one question that really needs to be answered right now, the one that's weighing the heaviest on my mind.

"They say there's some sort of outbreak in the city and with all of the fog, it's not safe to continue driving because we won't be able to see well."

Instantly, my mind is drawn to the numerous news reports I've seen recently on television. According to the media, a disease is rapidly spreading through the States, driving people to insanity. Victims of the disease were known to lose their minds and attack anyone that came near them. Graphic images of gray creatures that looked more like decaying corpses instead of humans always accompanied the news reports. Eventually, Mom would change the channel, but the images always stuck with me.

It feels like a there's a heavy stone in my gut as I go to ask the question. "I-Is it the virus that's been all over the news?" I ask. The bus falls silent.

The bus monitor's eyes fall on me. She gives a slight nod before looking away. Immediately, the bus is filled with panicked whispers that slowly turn into shouting.

"Well, what're we going to do?" the softball player asks over the noise. "We can't turn around, can we?"

I look over my seat. No, turning back is not an option. The line of cars behind us is endless. The only way we have to go is forward unless we want to walk.

The bus monitor sits in her seat. "We're just going to wait for them to clear the roads. By that time, the fog should clear and we will be able to move on." She doesn't say another word. Her hand has found her cell phone and she is lost in the dim light that emits from its screen.

Seeing that our only figure of authority has checked out, everyone decides to sit back and wait. Whispers of topics that range from the outbreak to the Brave game begin. I pull out my cell phone and call the first person that comes to mind: Mom. She answers on the second ring. I can tell immediately that something is up by the tone in her voice.

"Please tell me that your bus didn't take the interstate?" she pleads.

"We did," I admit with slumped shoulders.

My words are met with a groan. I can hear Mom take a deep breath away from the receiver. Then she's back and her voice is all business. "They're saying that the roads could be closed for hours. Are you all just sitting out there?"

"Yeah, it's pretty bad," I say while craning my neck to get a look out of my window. People are running towards the policemen who are doing their best to hold them off. The blaring of horns is really starting to give me a headache. I lean forward and press my forehead to the seat in front of me. "Don't get all worried, though," I say in a teasing tone. "I'll be okay."

"Did you pack any snacks with you?" Mom asks as she transitions into full-Mama mode.

I grab my duffel bag and dig through it, sifting through my belongings. Inside I find two bags of my favorite flavored M&amp;Ms, my filtered water bottle, a couple packs of fruit punch drink flavorings, a bag of baked chips, and two giant package of teriyaki-flavored beef jerky. Snacking—it's my only weakness.

"Yep," I assure Mom with a smile that she can't see but can hopefully hear. "I've got the whole grocery store with me, thanks to you."

"I bet you're happy I threw all of that stuff in your bag now," Mom jokes. I laugh and nod, even though I know she can't see it.

I didn't realize it then, but I was going to be very happy that she packed those things for me in just a few more hours.

I ended the call with Mom shortly after telling her to give my love to my older brother and younger sister. The old cell phone is just about to go into my pocket when I feel someone tap my shoulder. I glance over and find the bespectacled softball player giving me a bashful smile.

"Hi," she greets me. She looks slightly embarrassed. "Um, would you mind if I borrowed your cell to call my dad? I left mine home like a complete idiot," she explains while jokingly hitting her forehead.

"Oh, sure!" I hand her my cell phone with a smile, which earns me a grateful nod. The girl dials a number and starts talking. I flop back in my seat and resume staring out of the window. No cars and booger-pickers to count and keep me occupied now. The hysteria is only increasing outside. People are screaming at one another, some have even resorted to violence. I cringe when one man pulls a knife out to threaten one woman. I shoot up in my seat as I watch the scene unfold right before my eyes. My hands go against the glass of my window as the woman pulls a bat from her trunk and wields it like a sword towards the deranged man. There are children in her car and this lunatic is threatening their mother?!

"It's crazy out there…!"

I look up and see Darren staring out of the window as well. His jaw is clenched as he takes in the sight of the knife-wielding man and the irate woman. Thankfully, another man comes up and knocks the first man out. The woman hurries back to her car, safe for now. I sink back to my seat, relief that the crisis had been diverted.

Darren shakes his head and offers a weak smile. "Some road trip, right?" he jokes.

"Definitely going into my memory book," I joke half-heartedly. I can only return his smile for a moment before it's gone. The fog is starting to creep up on our vehicle, coating its outside like a deadly disease. Pretty soon, it's too foggy outside to see anything besides the paved road beneath our bus. I can feel fear creeping alongside the fog, ready to pounce on our idle bus.

"Here you go." The softball player has finished her phone call and is holding out my cell. She gives me a grateful smile that makes her blue eyes crinkle at the corners. "Thanks a lot. My dad was so worried about me."

"You're welcome!" I take my cell phone and slide it into my pocket. "I know what you mean. My mom is probably flipping out right now."

The girl giggles then adjusts her glasses to get a better view of me. "You're… Bree Evans, right? You were in one of the plays last year." she asks, catching me off guard. "I'm Eva Mae. We have College Algebra together," she elaborates.

I sift through my bland memories of College Algebra class, which seem to only involve drawing on the back of assignments and yawning at my professor. Somewhere, in the midst of that, I recall the perky blonde seated a few rows in front of me. Eva Mae… Yep, I remember her now. She was always the class clown, somehow managing to make math class somewhat funny. She was also insanely intelligent. She breezed through every test like it was butter and she was a hot knife.

"Oh, right!" I say as the realization further dawns on me. "Sorry, I'm completely zoned out in that class. I hate math."

"Me too," she admits. "I may be good at it but I think we all die a little every time we step into Dr. Kenneth's class."

We share a laugh, both knowing the truthfulness to her statement. Dr. Kenneth is known for his boring lectures and monotonous voice. His class was where fun went to die.

Our laughter is suddenly drowned out by a chorus of screaming that comes from outside of the bus. Everyone in the bus falls silent as the screaming continues, only getting louder as the seconds go by. I clutch onto the arms of my seat and my back goes rigid.

"What is that?" Darren asks while standing is his seat. Panic starts to set in when our bus begins to rock from side to side. At first, I thought it was someone being silly and rocking the bus from the inside, but the students' terrified wails tell me otherwise.

Someone outside is rocking the bus.

The screaming in the bus mirrors the shouts outside as the bus continues to violently rock from side to side. I clutch the sides of my seat and risk looking out of my window. I can just barely make out dark figures pressing against my side of the bus. Groans emanate from these figures, somehow finding my ears even above all of the screaming. Don't tell me hysteria has driven the people into this kind of panic…

"Remain calm!" the bus monitor orders, but she looks anything but calm herself. Her ponytail is a tangled mess and her cap is on crooked. She holds on to the top of her seat, trying to remain upright. "I don't know what's going on out there, but we will handle it!" she assures us in her hoarse voice. She turns to the bus driver and yells, "Turn on the radio! Find out what the heck is going on out there!"

The driver obliges, his chubby hands darting out and pressing the radio switch. Soon, voices mixed with static come through the speakers built around the interior of the bus. I try my hardest to pay attention while still trying to not fall out of my seat.

"The government has ordered an immediate evacuation of the city of Atlanta. The disease that is now classified as a pandemic has spread rapidly and some patients have broken free of the confinement facility. The patients are labeled as hostile and extremely dangerous. There have been countless deaths and the number keeps growing. If you are in the city of Atlanta, please go to the Bank of America Plaza. Police are waiting there and will escort you out of the city and to a safe area…."

Without warning, the sharpest shove yet hits our bus. We begin to tip. My first instinct is to grab onto my seat. Bags rains down from the shelves above and starts pelting the poor kids who have the misfortune of being on the side that is getting closer to the ground. Screams ring throughout the bus as everyone starts to slide out of their seats and onto the floor. My fingers stay clasped around my seat even when the side of the bus makes its loud, sickening impact.

The side of the bus smashes against the ground, hard. Gravity does its job and it does it well. Glass shatters upwards, cutting into the students on that side. I find myself hanging from my seat, my duffel bag's strap over my shoulder, my feet dangling in the air. Pained moans come from not so far below me. I risk a look over my shoulder and see shattered glass and blood spilled below. Some students are unconscious, having hit their heads the wrong way, while many still seem unharmed. The radio is nothing but static now. I dangle from my seat, my throat raw from screaming, still trying to take in the words of the radio announcer. Occasionally, a few broken phrases come through, but I can only guess at their meaning:

"_Not much time…"_

_"…__Escape, now!"_

_"…__.Safety is not…."_

A real voice breaks into the radio's conversation, asking, "Is everyone okay?" The bus monitor is alright. I see her climbing up from her seat, glancing around worriedly at us. After making sure that there's no one below me, I release my hold on the seat. My feet land on the pavement that is now parallel to our bus's windows. The world seems to have twisted around. Instead of an aisle, we are forced to step over the seats in order to move forward.

I see Eva Mae rising from the seat in front of me. There is a small, bloody gash on her forehead and her mouth is leaking blood.

"That was nasty," she gripes. She releases a low hiss after pressing her palm to the wound of her hand. It comes away red. "The people out there are goin' crazy!"

Crazy? Whoever tipped our bus was certifiably insane. "Crazy doesn't cover it," I note while looking up and out of the window above my head. The sky seems to have grown even darker. A shiver as cold as death snakes its way down my spine and I look away.

"Okay, everyone." Once again, it's up to the bus monitor to bring order to the chaos. Her pale hands swipe at the sweat pouring down her face. It looks as if it's taking everything in her to keep from breaking down. "Try to form as good of a line as you can manage and head out the emergency exit in the back. Can I get a strong guy to push out the door and help the others out?"

We try to do as we're told. I'm beginning to freak out by this time. People were getting hysterical enough to tip over buses. Was it because of waiting in line, the threat of the disease, or something else entirely?

I try to focus on the matter at hand and get behind Eva Mae and in front of Darren in the line. Darren is making nervous humming noises under his breath that I can only guess is a stress-coping mechanism. The tune is off-beat and strange, but he seems relatively calm. Eva Mae is picking at the wound on her face, seemingly obsessed with the blood pouring from it.

One of the football players manages to get the emergency exit door open by kicking it out. It clacks open and a hideously foul smell floods into the cramped bus. I groan and cover my nose at the stench. It smells like a mixture of manure and rotten eggs.

"Sewage pipe must have busted somewhere," Darren guesses from behind me. I can only give a shaky nod in agreement. That or something died out there.

Slowly, the line moves forward. One by one, students are helped off of the bus by the football player. The closer that I get to the front of the line, the greater the anxious feeling in my stomach grows. Something is wrong. The screaming that plagued the outside world just a few minutes ago has died away into a still silence. The blaring horns have silenced. Now all I can hear is the dragging of limp feet and the unearthly groaning.

The next few events happen so quickly, it's not until much later that I'm able to figure out exactly what happened. The football player is the first to scream. After that, the rest of the students who have hopped out of the bus join in, followed closely by the moaning of something that sounds inhuman.

"What's happening up there?" the bus monitor shouts. "What's going on? Someone, answer me!"

I can't see a thing from over the tall Eva Mae's head, no matter how high I'm able to stand on my tiptoes. The moans only grow louder, along with the screaming. It's horrible. Garbled shrieks, muffled groans…. They sound like they're in so much pain. Students have started going the opposite way, back towards the front of the bus, pushing against the rest of us who are still in line. I struggle to stay upright, but they have no intention of stopping. Plus, they are not alone.

With them comes the gray creatures from the news reports, snapping their bloody fangs at anyone who happens to be in their way. The TV did little to capture just how gruesome they truly are. Their moldy-looking skin is peeling away, revealing snatches of white bone and rotting entrails. Brown blood trickles out of every open wound on their body, like the muddy rivers I saw earlier.

My first thought: _I've got to get out of here_.

Struggling to stay upright despite the students and creatures thrashing to get past me, I spin around and try to head to the front of the bus. The screaming starts up and I can hear students being ripped to pieces behind me. Warm blood splashes against my back. The blood trickles down my collar, down my spine, everywhere. I freeze up at the impact.

"Shoot, keep going, Bree!" I hear Eva shout from behind me. I snap out of it quickly.

Up ahead, the bus driver and monitor have opened the door and are helping students climb up and out of the bus. Darren gets helped out before me and I'm next. I'm lifted out of the chaotic battlefield and out into the gray foggy world. I turn around and give Eva Mae my hand. She takes it and I help her out of the bus. She's the last person; no one else comes, no matter how long I wait. The screaming continues in the nightmare bus. I turn away and puke off the side of the bus. When I open my eyes, I find myself staring down at a sea of gray creatures.

I stifle a scream by covering my mouth. I stumble away from the edge and nearly fall off the other side. Only the swift hand of our faithful bus monitor keeps me from taking a plunge into the gray sea. She pulls me back to the group.

My knees buckle and I collapse to the ground. My heart is pounding against my ribcage, threatening to break free and jump out to the creatures below. Their black, rotted teeth snap up at us, waiting to tear us apart. Flashes of bloody skull, torn appendages, and brown guts are littered throughout the dark mass of creatures. I swipe at my wet mouth with the back of my hoody's sleeve and dry heave a couple of more times.

The bus monitor looks just as shocked as I feel. Her brown eyes are wide as she takes in the endless sea of creatures. "This can't be happening," she mumbles. She takes out her cell phone and dials a number. A moment later, she begins talking to someone who I can only assume to be the police.

I glance around at the remaining students. There's only a handful of us left; twelve at max, including Darren, myself, Eva Mae, and the bus monitor. Darren is staring down at the creatures like a man lost at sea while Eva Mae is rocking on the ground, sobbing. Her glasses are crooked.

With shaking hands, I pull out my cell phone and dial Mom. The phone rings and rings but no one answers. I hang up and try again, then again, and again, but the result is the same each and every time. No one answers.

Fear grips my heart even tighter. It takes a few deep breaths to get my heart to slow down into a pace that seems relatively normal. I can't freak out; not right now. The screaming, crying, tears, and snot can come later, after I get out of this. At that moment, I'll allow myself to do all of the screaming and crying that I feel like doing. Right now, I've got to think rationally, I've got to keep a cool head.

The bus rocks as it begins to fill up with more and more of the creatures, each eager to get their hands on the slain students inside. I might be wrong but it sounds like the creatures are feasting down there and I can only guess what the meal is. The screams stopped long ago. Only the sounds of ripping flesh and breaking bones ring up from below, causing the bile to climb up my throat. I force it down and look out towards Atlanta.

That's where they're coming from. The fog was their ally, covering their grayish forms in its wispy clutches, drawing them closer and closer to us until it let go and they were free to attack. The other cars are empty now, perhaps abandoned a long time ago, or perhaps their drivers were lost.

It's a long time before anyone speaks. "What are we supposed to do?" Eva Mae whispers from beside me. She's stopped her rocking but there are still fresh tears on her pale cheeks. She wipes at them and gives a choked sob. "I've got to get home; my daddy will be so worried."

"We'll be okay," I try to assure her, but the words sound false even to my own ears. Eva Mae looks grateful for the assurance but that doesn't stop her from crying. I stare out at the gray creatures, wondering if this is it for me. Thoughts of never getting to fulfill my dream of becoming an author, of ever finding true love, even of beating my older brother's high score on a video game… All of these things fill my head and it takes all of my strength to push those kinds of thoughts away.

No. I'm going to survive this. I'm getting back to my family and everything will be okay.

I'm thinking this right up until the moment I feel our bus begin to rock again. Terrified, I peek over the edge of the bus, along with the rest of the survivors. The creatures are at it again, but this time, they've decided to try and scale the bus. Their limp forms claw and grab at the underside of the bus, which is now exposed, and are using it to hoist themselves up.

Darren curses. "They're coming up here!"

Panicked screams sound through our group, but this only seems to send the creatures into even more of a frenzy. Their attempts at climbing only strengthen. Some are even making some headway. Their lopsided heads appear right beneath us. One looks at me, its one eye locked onto my face. I watch its loose jaw click into place before a growl rips out of its torn throat. It reaches for me, but this causes it to lose its grip and go tumbling back to the ground. I hadn't even moved a muscle; I'm completely frozen in fear.

That's it. We can't stay up here any longer. Those people, no, those _creatures_ are right at our feet and I'm in no shape to try and fight them. It's only a matter of time before they reach us and we end up like the poor people inside of the bus.

My eyes scan the crowd of monstrous, disease victims, looking for a way out. After a few seconds, I find one. There is a small break in the crowd, near the emergency exit. It seems as if the ones that were back there have all flooded inside, giving us a much-needed escape route.

I wave my hand at everyone, hoping to get their attention. Unfortunately, everyone is too busy watching the invading zombies.

"Hey!" I finally shout. "There's a way out over here!"

This is enough to grab their attention. Everyone's eyes fall on me, the girl who could have been declared a mute while riding the bus. A blush settles on my face but I fight to remain in control of my emotions. No time to get embarrassed, Bree.

"Back here!" I yell while gesturing towards the empty space by the emergency exit. A look of relief floods almost every face on top of the bus. The bus monitor gives me an enthused smile before she take over.

"Alright, you heard the girl! Back there, jump off and then run straight! Don't wait for anyone, just run straight and we'll meet up at a safe place."

Students quickly hurry towards the escape route, but a few look hesitant, including our bus driver. His crazed eyes dart between the oncoming diseased and the escape route. Sweat pours down the folds on the back of his neck. He adjusts his cap and shakes his head.

"Dunno, Kate. It might be better to wait for help here," he finally says.

Kate, our bus monitor, fixes him with an outraged look. "Stay here? Those people are nippin' at our toes and you want us to stay put?" She walks over and shoves her finger next to his nose. Her voice turns into a low, menacing growl. "You get up and climb down with the rest of us. No one is staying behind."

The driver swallows hard but still manages to shake his head. "N-No. I'm waiting for help, right here."

A few of the students give muted nods of agreement and take a seat. The bus monitor looks at the students, seeming unsure of what to do. I clutch at the strap of my duffel bag and shoot nervous glances at our escape route. It won't be clear for much longer. In the foggy distance, I can just make out more of the limping figures heading our way. If we don't move now, those things are going to be on us.

The bus monitor notices them, too. "Fine," she says after a brief pause. "Fine, you all stay here but you call us if those police show up." I'm surprised when she leans down and places a lingering kiss on the chubby man's pouty lips, ignoring the startled looks that some of the students give her. She pulls away and caresses the top of his shaved head. "Be careful, Reggie," she murmurs.

She then turns to us and points at the escape route. "Let's go," she orders. Everyone nods and we head out. I'm the first one to jump and I waste no time in running once my feet hit the pavement. Darren follows behind me, then Eva Mae, and two more students. The bus monitor pulls up the rear but a sharp scream from the bus stops us all dead in our tracks.

I look back and am horrified to see that the diseased have managed to scale the bus. They pour over the lagging group like a tsunami with red waves. Screams rip out of their throats, limbs are ripped from their sockets, and blood splashes everywhere.

"Reggie!" Kate screams. Before anyone can stop her, Kate is rushing back to the bus.

"Miss Kate!" Eva Mae screams after her but it does little to slow our bus monitor down. It turns out that the rest of us have our own problems to take care of. The figures from the fog have emerged. Their dead eyes lock onto us and they move in for the kill.

My first instinct is to run and I do. I run back towards the bus, barely noticing that the rest of my group has decided to plow forward through the mass of gray. By the time I realize this, they've already disappeared into the fog. I stop running and turn to face the way that they went. I ball up my hands by my sides and search the fog, hoping to see a familiar face. I find none but the diseased.

"Darren?" I yell. No one answers. "…Eva Mae? Anyone?!"

Still, there is no reply. My fists begin to shake when I see that all of my yelling has only drawn more of the diseased to me. Their filmy, white irises roll over to land on me. My heart shoots into my throat when low grunts escape from their throats before they begin to stumble towards me. I let out a choked sob before I turn and run. I shoot past the bus, not eager to see what fate befell my fellow students. I keep my eyes locked straight ahead. The silent crunching of bones and sopping noises of wet, detached flesh tells me everything I need to know about the bus passengers.

I stumble through the fog, tears stinging at my eyes, fear eating away at my heart. The fog is slowly beginning to melt away, revealing more and more of the creatures. I've always been a fan of horror movies. Flesh-eating zombies and gruesome monsters have never made me flinch. My family and I would laugh at the terrible stage blood those movies would use. "I could _so _survive that," I'd boast to my older brother between spurts of laughter at the stupid teenagers. You'd have to be a total idiot to get killed in those movies.

Reality has a way of throwing all of your expectations back in your face. I'm nothing but a blubbering sack of tears right now. Survival is more of a hopeful dream than a viable option.

I'm alone out here in this endless fog, headed towards who knows where, with creatures that seem to enjoy the taste of human flesh right on my heels. Littered across the ground are corpse after mangled corpse, each torn apart by the infected. It takes everything inside of me to keep moving forward.

I don't expect my foot to land on air instead of more pavement. My leg goes forward and takes my entire body with it. I tumble down the sloped hill with a cry of surprise. My body rolls along the suddenly rocky ground, taking the brunt of the blows dealt by the jagged rocks sticking up.

Thankfully, it's not long before my rolling comes to a slow halt. Every part of me is aching, some parts are even bleeding, but I'm able to pull myself up into a standing position.

"Ow...ow, ow, ow…" I mutter while nursing my throbbing head. My hoody tore at the elbow to reveal an elbow caked with red blood. My eyes flutter at the sight. I tug my sleeve back down and look up to see what had caused my stumble.

The guardrails which prevented such tumbles has been ripped apart forcefully, opening a path down the steep hill I've had the displeasure of going down. My eyes find the cause of the breakage a few yards away from me—a dented car with shattered windows. I carefully wipe the rest of the painful rubble out from my skin and move towards the car. I can only pray that the passengers somehow managed to survive the nearly ten foot fall, not to mention the impact of hitting the guardrail at such a speed.

I tiptoe up to the driver's side of the car and peer into the window. A horrible sight awaits me.

A man, no a man-turned-monster, sits in the driver's seat, his face dug into the female passenger beside him. Disgusting, ripping, wet noises emanate from him as he devours the woman's face. He's tearing into her skull as if it were made of warm butter instead of thick bone. Dark, twisted veins work their way up his graying skin, like vines curling over an old building. They pulsate with every chew, every rip that comes with devouring his victim. The woman remains silent; life must have left her a long time ago.

I barely hear the startled scream that presses out from between my lips. The monster's head snaps up. Heavy breaths sound and then he turns his horrible, blood-drenched face to look at me. I can only stare back with wide eyes as the man lurches at me.

Fortunately, he still has his seatbelt on and it doesn't look as though he knows how to operate it. He lunges for me again and again, but his seatbelt keeps him held firmly in place. After a few more tries, he seems to give up. He gives a disgruntled moan before returning to the meal he already started on much earlier.

I take a few, shaky steps backwards, away from the horribleness, before I turn on my heel and run. I don't even know where I'm running but I just want to escape the sight of that poor woman with her skull cracked open and those disgusting sounds that came with digging into it.

The trees pass by in a blur of colors as I continue to run. The fall season has taken away all of the green that nature might have had and given it back as a brilliant array of yellows and reds. I love the colors that come with this season, but right now all they remind me of is blood and the mushy membrane that covered the inside of that woman's skull…

I slowly stop running and put my hands on my knees. Vomit flies out of my mouth and rains down on the forest floor in a bright burst of reddish color. The putrid stuff just keeps coming until finally, thankfully, it ends. I stand up straight and breathe heavily at the sky. My sleeve goes across my mouth. I force myself to calm down by taking a couple of deep breaths.

You're okay, Bree. You're okay. It's going to be alright. My blurry eyesight clears and eventually, my heart rate returns to normal.

Running from place to place and puking everywhere is not going to get me out of this crazy ordeal. I'm going to have to get my head together if I want to have a shot of getting to safety. I was caught in a bad place at the wrong time, but now I'm able to think clearly.

I pull out my cell phone and immediately dial 911. The phone rings for a few moments before a female answers, "911, what's your emergency?"

I grasp the phone closer to my ear and laugh with relief upon hearing another human voice. Now I don't feel completely alone out here. "H-Hi, I really need some help," I tell the woman. "There was a big accident on I-29, and –"

"We've already dispatched officers towards the interstate, ma'am. Just relax in your car and they will be there as soon as possible."

"I-I'm not in my car!" I yell. "I accidentally went off the interstate because I was being chased by these things—"

"I'm sorry." The woman's voice is curt and final. "We're doing all we can right now to get you help. Just stay where you are and help will come. Goodbye."

'No!" I cry. "No, no! I need your help! Those things are eating people and…."

The dial tone silences my unheard pleas. I slowly press my finger against the screen to end the call and press my forehead to the cool surface of my phone. My ragged breathing causes fog to appear on the screen and my shoulders to shiver.

The police weren't going to help. I can only imagine how many distressed phone calls they were receiving. They weren't going to send out a car to find some hysterical lost college student in the woods. I'm on my own out here.

My hand finds the cross dangling near my heart. I grab it and hold it tight. Courage surges through me as I go to take my first step towards home.

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**A/N: So...whatcha think? Even if you hated it and want to burn it with fire, I'd love to know :D I appreciate any and all feedback. Merle will be showing up after the first couple of chapters. Next chapter is from a special someone's POV! See you then! ;)**

**Laterz,**

**CR**


	2. Girl in the Woods

**DISCLAIMER: I regretfully own...nothing! :'(**

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**Gaaaah, thank you so much for the encouraging reviews and follows on this story! I wasn't expecting much for this story so you people literally made my day. No, MONTH. So, thanks a lot! :D In this chapter, I'm introducing a character from the comic that I really found myself liking for whatever strange reason. This dude will play an important role in the story! The story will be a bit different from the comic and TV show because...well, it's more fun that way. ^^ Enjoy!**

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**Ch. 2: Negan – Girl in the Woods**

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**T**he world is now a freakin' wasteland.

Three weeks is all it takes for the world to flip over and die. It wasn't a slow, painful death, mind you. No, the world went out like a punk. One hit and it went down. The governments have long gone bye-bye. The National Guard is pretty much ka-put. Everywhere a guy looks, it's chaos and more chaos.

Hey, no complainin' comin' from this guy. Within the course of this one, eensy, weensy month, I've already found a new way of life. I'm a natural born leader, you see. That's what Mama always said. The old bag was right about something. You see, when the world goes to heck, the survivors want a source of leadership. Heck, the poor wimps _needed _a leader and who am I to turn away the innocent sheep-minded idiots?

Thus was born my camp of survivors—we call ourselves "The Saviors". It's got a nice ring to it. Anyway, we set up a nice place with walls to keep the Chompers out and plenty of food and water on the inside. A utopia, if you will. People gravitated to the place after hearing the rumors about warm beds, shelter, and food. They didn't have anywhere else to go. I welcomed them all with open arms.

Right now, I'd say we've got ourselves a sprawling community of around two hundred or so folks. A pretty nice number considering the fact that the world is getting' kinda short on people, at least the living kind.

"Oh, Lucy! I'm _home!"_

A swing of my bat lands a solid smack of wood and barbed wire across the forehead of a Puppet.

"Oooh! Nice one, Lucille!" I exclaim happily when a satisfying amount of tar-like blood flies out of the back of his gelatinous head. It collapses to the ground like a toppled tower of blocks.

"That was freakin' disgusting!" I note with a grin at the mutilated corpse at my feet. Yep, it's dead, alright. The giant bleeding hole in its face is a testament to that.

One of the Saviors, my trusty pal named Butch, walks up and spits at the body. A wiry grin takes over the grisly man's face. "That should take care of the Puppets getting close to camp, Leader-man."

"Yup," I agree. The toe of my boot digs into the hole of the dead Biter. I recoil with a half-disgusted/half-entertained squeal when maggots squirm out of their bloody home at the slight disturbance. One kick sends the infested head flying.

"Whoa! I shoulda played soccer, I really shoulda!" I proclaim. After listening to the rest of my men laugh, I raise my trusty lady Lucille to the air and give a lazy wave towards camp. "Alright, let's head back! I've gotta headache from all of these d*** gunshots…"

The men agree and start heading back towards our camp. I hum a song from some old movie I watched when I was a kid (something about a deer and a rabbit in a forest) and walk after them.

That takes care of nearby Puppets, so maybe that will turn my people into happy campers and stop them from chewing my butt off every time one little Biter makes it into camp and rips out someone's spleen. The people at my camp can be pretty high strung for a group of festering freeloaders.

A slight rustle from a nearby bush stops me dead in my tracks. A smile takes over my face as my hand finds the gun in my pocket. I withdraw it and give it a spin around my index finger. I continue the song, but this time in a whistle. My eyes never leave the bush as I slowly approach it.

Sneaky, weaky Puppets…

In one sharp movement, my gun thrusts into the bush. A startled yelp comes out of the bush and it sure as heck doesn't sound like a Puppet.

"Walk out slowly and with your hands up, pretty please," I coo while nudging around with the gun. I hit something soft that earns another squeal from our little bush-dweller. It's not often you find a live one out here so I must admit, I'm a little excited.

"Okay, okay, I'm coming out!"

My eyes widen as a young woman emerges from the bush with her small hands raised high above her head. She's a tiny thing with a round face that almost makes her look like a kid. Dark hair falls down either side of her brown face and its tangled up something bad. There's a pretty grimy-looking hoody on her small frame and it's sporting a college logo. College kid, huh? I would have thought those spoiled pricks would have been the first to go. Too pissy drunk to fight off the undead. This girl must have been a fighter.

I study her for a moment before nudging her chin with my gun. "You look like total s***, little college girl," I say.

The girl sniffles and offers me the tiniest of smiles her chapped lips can muster up. "Well," she begins in a voice that matches her child-like face. "Do you think maybe you could help me with that?"

I lower the gun and guffaw. Girl's got a little spunk in her.

"Cute," I say with a jaunty grin that the girl just barely returns. Fatigue and fear is written all over her features, but there's relief hidden under all of that, relief at seeing another human being after who knows how long. "What's your name?" I ask.

"Bree Evans," she replies with absolutely no hesitation. Guess apprehension with strangers goes out the window when the apocalypse hits.

I put my gun away and give her my friendliest of smiles, the ones that made all the girls in college melt. It seems to put her at ease somewhat. Her body relaxes and she lowers her hands to her sides.

"Well, Bree, first thing's first! Congrat-u-freakin'-lations for surviving this long! That's really something, you know? Especially for a college kid. You oughta feel good about yourself! Come on, give yourself a little applause!"

The young woman glances around, confused, before her hands bring themselves together in an unsure round of applause. I join her and then give another laugh when her lips curve up into a smile.

"Good, good! Bet that felt good, didn't it?"

The girl gives an unsure laugh but nods her head. "I-It kinda did."

"Of course it did!" I bellow. I turn to my men, who have already turned back around to see what was keeping their leader. "Boys, looks like we've got ourselves a new member!" I look back at the girl. "You do like food and shelter, don't ya?" I tease with a wink.

The girl beams. "Y-Yes!" she nearly sobs. "Thank you so much, Mr…?"

"Just call me Negan, sweetheart," I tell her with a tilt of my head. "Negan will do just fine for now."

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**A/N: Hay thurr, Negan! :D What're you doin' here?  
**

**Hope you enjoyed this chapter! I apologize for its shortness. The next chapter is a bit longer!  
**

** Bree's POV next chappie. See yaaaa!**

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**Peace man,**

**CR**


	3. Civilized People

**Disclaimer: I don't own a thang, just the random OCs!  
**

_A/N: Hey people! It's been a while since I updated and I apologize for that! Lots of things happening in life lately (all good things)! I hope you all have been doing awesome! Anyway, we're back to the story... Last time, Bree was found in the woods by Negan and his crazy baseball bat (or is Negan the crazy one...?) What will happen next to Bree? Will she ever come across her classmates again? And where is MERLE DIXON, y'all?! (he's comin' soon, I promise! ;) )_

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**_Ch. 3: Bree- Civilized People  
_**

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**T**hree weeks.

I was out in those woods, by myself, without a weapon to my name, for _three weeks_. It is nothing but a miracle that I'm still alive and breathing. I'm still thanking God for showing me mercy. Somehow, I managed to survive on what Mom packed me that day for my trip to the baseball game. You know that story in the Bible, the one where Jesus feeds this huge crowd with just five loaves of bread and two fish? That's how I felt with what little food I had left.

A couple of chocolate candies for breakfast, a sip of water for lunch, and jerky for dinner. I was making such a big deal over Mom packing _so _much stuff, but now I have her to thank for pretty much my only food source besides wild berries, leaves, and nuts. My cell phone battery died a long time ago and not one of my phone calls were answered. I traveled those woods for all three of those weeks, hoping that I was heading south towards Florida, towards home.

I was on the verge of death when Negan found me. I'm by no means a "skinny girl", but those three weeks of starving turned me into a walking skeleton. I probably resembled one of the diseased when he came across me. Having a gun shoved under my chin wasn't exactly a warm greeting, but beggars can't be choosers. He offered food and a warm bed, two things I haven't seen for a long, long time. I was on my last pack of jerky and my water was just about gone. They'd found me at the right moment—any longer, and I might have been a goner.

"So, tell me about yourself, sweetie," Negan is saying as he and I, along with some other men, traverse through the woods. He's whistling some tune that sounds familiar, but my muddled mind can't recall it right now.

Negan looks like a member of a serious motorcycle gang, those ones that did more than just ride around on their glitzy Harley-Davidsons to show off. With his black biker jacket and dark jeans stuffed into a pair of strappy boots, it should be easy to see how I've come to this conclusion. He's not ugly either; his wide jawline, black, short-cropped hair, and striking green eyes makes me think of Clark Kent for some reason.

Time for introductions. "I'm Bree Evans…" I begin somewhat nervously. I swallow hard before continuing. It's not hard for me to dig up those manners that my mom had instilled in me from a young age. Always smile at strangers, be kind to others, and try to be considerate. I don't care if the apocalypse has hit; I'm still going to act like a decent human being, even if it's just to keep my own sanity intact.

A smile somehow crawls over my lips. "Thank you for helping me. I go…well, I went to a college in Florida."

Negan nudges the front of my hoody with his gun. The action is a little out of my comfort zone, so I stumble back a few steps. "UF?" the older man questions.

I nod and push some of my messy hair behind my ears. There's no telling what debris is in my hair-I haven't had a mirror to check. "Yeah. We were on a trip to a Braves game in Atlanta—"

"Ooh, don't you just _love_ baseball?!" Negan suddenly squeals. He holds up his baseball bat, which is wrapped in a thick layer of barbed wire, and admires it. I notice that there's pieces of wet flesh dangling from it. Old blood stains have seeped into its wood. "Lucille here doesn't get to play much, but she just loves watching the game."

I smile at his quirky behavior. It is such a relief to hear another human being's voice and not just the automated voice that responded to me every time I called one of my contacts. He may be kind of weird, but I don't have a problem with it. Being a drama kid, you get used to the quirky behavior.

"We didn't make it to the game. There was some kind of hold up on the interstate and those diseased people started attacking my bus and-"

"_Puppets_," Negan corrects me. A dark look has taken over his green irises, clouding them in shadows. His face dips towards mine. "Don't refer to 'em as people. We call those things _Puppets_. They ain't human anymore."

I retreat physically from the angry look on his face, my eyes wide. Negan grins and pulls away from me. His meaty hand pats the top of my head and the dark look is gone.

"You'll learn the ways of the new world soon enough, young one," he says in a wizened voice. "Everything's a bit different now. But go on, sweetheart. Finish your story."

It takes me a while to recover from his sudden change in behavior. I clear my raw throat and force myself to nod. "W-We all got separated. I've been out here on my own for nearly three weeks now. You're the first person I've seen since the bus."

Negan lets out a low whistle. Something that resembles pity crosses his rugged features. "Poor thing. Those classmates of yours are all probably dead by now."

I bite at my bleeding lip and look away, refusing to believe him. "Maybe."

After a few more minutes of walking, a giant wall comes into view. There are a few people stationed atop it. When they see us coming, they immediately scramble into action. The gate hesitantly opens, revealing a city within the walls.

I can barely believe my eyes as we walk into the small city. There's really only a couple of buildings, but they are a good size. The place must have been some type of factory before the outbreak. People are actually bustling around like nothing has happened. Small children clasping their mother's hands, men pushing wheelbarrows, even tamed animals trot down the crowded sidewalk. The scent of fresh food billows through the bustling city. I blush when my stomach decides to unleash a ferocious growl. I grab at it and laugh with embarrassment.

"I can't believe this!" I say with a laugh of disbelief. I shake my head and scan the city. "Did… Did you build this?"

"With my own freakin' hands, baby!" Negan boasts. "This is what I like to call a utopia. People from all over the country are trying to get their happy butts in here. You've got yourself a ticket inside too, kiddo. Aren't you lucky?"

I grin and bounce on my heels with giddiness. For the first time in a long time, I feel hope. The stress of three weeks alone melts off of me as my eyes take in the beautiful sight of civilization. And did he say people from all over the country? In that case, I wonder… Could my family have also made it to this place?

"Mr. Negan?" I ask while turning to look at the dark-haired man.

"Just Negan. I'm not that old," he says with a grin.

I laugh and nod. That's a bad habit of mine. I call people Mr. and Mrs. Even if they look to only be a few years older than me. "Right, sorry," I say while returning his grin. "Has anyone else who looks like me came here recently? Three people?"

I watch Negan scratch at his stubbly chin. His green eyes roll around in his head as he processes my words. He gives a shake of his head.

"Nah, no one like you has washed into these parts," he admits with a shrug. "We did get a couple of Jamaican folks in here, not to be racist or anything like that." The white man raises his thick hands in defense. "We welcome every kind of person here, right, men?"

The men give mutters of agreement and a few snickers.

I can't help but to laugh again. It feels good; to laugh, I mean. It's been so long that my mind has been stuck in one mode: survive, survive, survive. I couldn't think of anything else, least of all laughter. But being back in the presence of mankind is enough to allow just a little laughter back in. I want to just keep laughing but I don't want him to peg me as a lunatic and throw my laughing butt back outside.

"I'm not Jamaican," I inform them with a tilt of my lips. "I'm actually of a mixed race, Hispanic and African-American. My family is the same."

"Well, we've got plenty of your kind of people around! You just take your time looking around the place, getting familiar with it and all. Maybe you'll come across your folks." Negan pauses. His eyes cut over to mine. "I'll come looking for you later, so don't go too far."

I smile and give him a nod. Negan grins and heads off with his surly partners in tow. I watch him for a while and then wrap my arms around myself as I take in the sprawling community of people.

Negan was being truthful. There's a fair amount of people from all walks of life in here. People come in a vast array of beautiful colors here. I drink in all of it with my eyes before I decide to start searching. If this place is as well-known as Negan claims it to be, then my family must have heard of it. I step into the crowd of people and allow myself to be bustled about.

I find things I haven't seen in what feels like forever. A shop selling all sorts of freshly-made foods, bedrooms open for anyone that is looking, animals for sale, soap, water, clothes and more. I continue to push through the city of survivors, my mind set on finding my family.

After nearly four hours of searching, I decide to take a break. I take up one man on his offer of a free room in the lower part of the factory. I unlock the room with the key the man gives me and go inside.

Inside is a wonderland. A bed with clean sheets, a refrigerator packed with fresh foods, and a shower. A shower! A freaking running shower with hot water! I all but rip off my clothes and jump into it the tub.

When the first droplet of hot water hits me, I feel like I've died and gone to heaven. Three weeks of grime and dirt come washing off of me and go down the drain. I wash my hair thoroughly, intent on getting all of the scents of the diseased…no, the Puppets out of it. A simple razor gets rid of the excessive hair that's sprang up everywhere. A smile blossoms over my face when I step out of the shower, still dripping, and I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror.

Bree Evans smiles back, happy college student with dreams of being a world-famous author. I run my fingers through my wet, tangled curls until I'm able to work all of the knots out. I push all of my hair back and give my reflection a renewed smile. I wipe away the last of the grime from my face and grin.

Humanity. I feel it again in this place. My hands capture the cross dangling between my breasts and I laugh.

One knock on my bathroom door sucks the laughter right out of my throat.

"Knock, knock!" Negan calls from the other side of the door. "Is there a Bree Evans here?" There's a note of laughter in his voice that makes me want to grin, but I can't grin in this situation! I'm stuck in a bathroom, naked, mind you, with a guy banging on the door! This is not good.

"I-I'll be out in a minute!" I call back in as happy of a voice I can muster up. I go to grab my discarded hoody and jeans, but I can't put those on again. They're still caked in dirt and I can't bear to put those on again. I just washed away those memories of being trapped in the woods. I don't want them back again.

Instead, I opt for a fuzzy green towel and wrap it around myself. I spare my reflection a withering glare of frustration before I crack open the door. Negan's smiling face is in the crack, practically scaring the crap out of me.

"H-Hi!" I squeak. "Um… You wouldn't have any clothes out there, would you? Mine are…"

"Complete crap?" Negan finishes for me. "Yeah, lemme see what I can dig up."

Negan disappears from the door crack. I close the door and lock it this time. I sit down on the closed toilet and push my fingers through my dark hair. This is slightly awkward. I really don't want Negan to see me in just a towel. As a first impression, I'd say I'd already missed the "good" mark in my dirty hoody, stained jeans, and atrocious smell. Wearing only a towel might be even worse than that in my book.

I jump off of the toilet seat when Negan knocks again. He's fast.

"You look like you're a size 3 in bottoms, maybe five in a shirt?" he asks. Wow. That's actually perfect, especially considering that he's a guy.

"Yeah, that's perfect," I say with a smile he can't hope to see from the other side of the door. I stand there for a moment, silently hoping that he will offer to lay the clothes on the bed or something so that I can leave the bathroom in peace.

Negan's laugh comes a moment later. "Aw, being shy? That's adorable."

Er, not many girls are willing to flaunt around in a towel in front of a guy she just met that day...

"Well," he continues. "I'll just leave your clothes on your bed for you. Come out of your room when you're done so I can see how it looks, alright?"

I'm glad that he can't see the weirded-out expression I give him through the door. Why the heck does he want to see me in a new outfit? I don't even know him. Well, I suppose I can do that for him, if it really means that much. He did just save my life, so who I am to deny him of this one minor wish?

"A-Alright! Thank you!" I call through the door. I lean against the door and wait to hear him leave. My wet fingers pad along the wooden door impatiently. Finally, I hear the front door slam. I sigh with relief and crack the door open just a bit. My head goes through the crack and I glance around. There's no one in sight. I breathe a sigh of relief and go out into the room.

I find my new outfit laid neatly across the bed. The outfit consists of a red camisole and dark jean shorts that I admit are a little too short for my tastes. Like I said: beggars can't be choosers. It's a little embarrassing to see that he's also left some undergarments, but at least he's being practical. He also threw in a black jacket so I won't freeze. I shed my towel and quickly change into my new outfit.

My skin sings with pleasure at the new, soft material snuggled against it. I sigh with happiness and run my fingers along my new outfit. Suddenly, my door flies open and in comes Negan. I want to scream and ask what the heck is his problem and why he's bursting into a girl's room without even having the decency to knock, but I bite my tongue. I'm really trying not to offend him. Instead, I face him with a scowl.

Negan's whole face lights up when he sees me dressed in his outfit. "Ooh, aren't you just lovely to look at!" he coos while grinning at me from the doorway. "You probably had all of those guys in college chasin' your ankles, am I right?"

I feel my face heat up at the assumption. Instead of lying, I give a small heave of my shoulders and grin. "I wasn't really worried about boys," I tell him.

Negan's face falls. "Don't tell me… You're into chicks?"

My eyes feel like they're going to pop out of my skull. "No!" I cry adamantly. Seeing the distressed look on my face is enough to draw laughter out of Negan. I join him after a while. I rub at my arm, still chuckling. "No, that was _not _the reason why. I just wanted to focus on other things, like my classes. You boys are pretty overrated, in my opinion."

"Haha, some guy must have did a number on you, princess."

I cock my head to the side and have a good laugh at this. He's pretty much right on the target. I'm not about to admit to the fact that I've never had a boyfriend. I know that sort of stuff shouldn't matter right now, but for some reason, I still find myself not wanting to tell Negan this. Whenever I tell someone that, lo and behold, I've never had a real boyfriend in all of my twenty years, it's like I transform from a young woman into a big, diaper-clad baby in front of their eyes. I could be a magician, I tell you.

I expertly switch the subject with a smile. "Thank you for the clothes. For everything, really." I gesture around the room and shake my head. My hand drops back to my side. "This place really is perfect."

"Ain't it?" Negan agrees easily. "It doesn't get any better out there, college girl. Your family, if they aren't here, they probably didn't make it."

The smile on my face withers and dies. I pat around behind me like a blind person. My hand finds the soft cushioning of the bed and I plop down on it. I put my hand over my face as a sense of dread settles over me.

My family…. No…. No, no, no! They can't be gone. There's no way that they're gone. "They're not…dead," I spit out the word like it's a bad taste. "They probably made it to that safe place the police set up."

"Aw, sweetie…" Negan's voice is sympathetic. I hear his footsteps as he approaches me. A second later, a new weight is added to the bed. A thick arm goes over my shoulders and a hand pats my arm. I flinch at his touch but I don't move away. I swipe at my tears and look over to see Negan's face, blurred through my tears, staring down at me.

"Those kind of places were the first to go down. The idiots didn't check the people comin' in for bitemarks. They turned once they were inside and everything went downhill from there."

My heart just about freezes. My hand drops from my mouth to my frozen heart and I try to keep my tears from spilling over. I fail miserably. Tears start falling before I can stop them and the sobbing starts almost immediately after. Just thinking about my family becoming those _things _is enough to tear my heart in two.

Negan pulls his arm from around my shoulders and rubs at the back of his head. "Aw, don't start cryin', kid. I didn't want to make you cry. Come on."

"Is it really that bad in the cities?" I manage to ask between sobbing. "Is everyone…?"

Negan gives a shrug. "Dunno. Hey, you were alive out there, weren't ya? That counts for something, seeing as you're just a scrawny college brat. Maybe you're family is still alive."

A laugh somehow finds its way out of my sob-ridden throat. I continue laughing until most of the tears have fallen out of my eyes and stain my cheeks instead.

I manage a smile. "Thanks," I say while swiping more of my wet hair behind my ear. I'm not even sure what I'm thanking him for—the laugh or for giving me a little more hope. Realizing that my face is now covered in snot and tears, I turn away from him in embarrassment and try my best to clean up my face without a tissue.

"Ugh," I groan. "I probably look like a troll right now."

"Here."

I turn to find Negan holding out a handkerchief to me. I smile and go to take it, but he lifts it out of my reach. My eyes go from the handkerchief, to his playful smile, and then back again. I quirk one eyebrow. I seriously hope he doesn't expect me to try and leap for it. We're not in middle school.

Instead, Negan takes the handkerchief and begins wiping up my face with it. He coos at me the entire time, like he's talking to a baby or a precious pet. What'd I say? I turned into a big baby. All I can do is sit there and shut my eyes as he rubs my face down. This is a new level of awkwardness. I barely know this guy and here he is, wiping snot from my face.

Finally, the pain ends. Negan lowers the handkerchief. His free hand finds my chin and he tilts it around.

"Hmmm… Hm, hm, hmmm…" he mutters like a demented scientist examining his patient. There's a slight twitch in his left eye that I haven't been able to catch before because I wasn't _this _close to him. His nose is only a few inches from my own. I can feel his hot breath against the delicate skin of my face. I'm trying my hardest to meet his eyes, but I'm too shy.

"There," he says. His lips twist into a mysterious smirk. "Don't you clean up nicely."

I stare up at him, too afraid to pull my chin from his grip. Suddenly, he leans down and plants a wet kiss on my forehead. I jump back from him, startled. My hand finds my forehead, feeling the moist spot he left in the center of it. I look up at him, expecting a rational explanation for this stranger to put his lips on me.

All he has to offer is a wink.

"Welcome to Sanctuary, Bree."

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_Merle: Gal, there better be a good reason why I ain't in this story yet._  
_Cerulean: Ohohoho, there is! ^_^; You'll show up in another couple of chapters, I promise!_  
_Merle: Good. This ain't a story without Merle Dixon in it, darling._  
_Cerulean: Oh gosh. Well readers, hope you enjoyed Bree's introduction to Sanctuary! I'll see you again with a new chapter soon! :)_


	4. Claimed

_(A/N: Thank you for all of the nice reviews! I mean, wow! You guys are awesome! Just taking the extra time out to leave me some feedback means the world to me! :D Soooo, thank you to umbrella0326, Blueberry, Savannah's Angels, AnnieMouse, FinsandFlippers, and PrincessAnime8! _

**_To umbrella: Thank you! I'm blushin' over here! :) I try to put as much effort as I can into my writing when I have the time! I was thinking the same thing about Negan and the Governor! I can't decide which one is more crazy, though... :o_**

**_To Blueberry: Yep, Bree is being a little too trusting of strangers. She's been alone for so long that she's willing to overlook his craziness for now but she won't be blind for much longer! Aww, I'm glad you think she's sweet!_**

_Merle: Hot dang, girl, this isn't the Academy Awards. Continue on with the story!_

_Cerulean: Ahem. *dabs away tears with a handkerchief* Here's the next chapter! Enjoy!_

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**CH. 4: Negan - Claimed  
**

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**I** think I'm in love.

What's this—the third, fourth, maybe seventh time I've fallen in love with one of the Sanctuary girls? Who can keep count with all of the beautiful women that keep pouring into my home? I love 'em all, all nine of the women that were lucky enough for me to put a ring on it. They always come to me on their own accord, desperate for a piece of the Negan, which is the way I like it. I've got one for every flavor of the week—brunettes, redheads, and blondes. My favorites are the blondes, always the blondes. There's something about their flirtatious girliness and vapid giggling that gets me every time. My favorite wife is Amber—oh, she's a killer, that one. Blonde bombshell with the figure of a supermodel and the face of an angel. She chose me and I couldn't be any happier. I show her what a life with me is like—I get her new clothes, more food than anyone else in the camp, and me, of course. I'm the gold-freakin'-trophy at the top of the trophy case.

Then there's this new girl…Bree. Cute as a button. She kind of reminds me of a teddy bear, with that cute, round face and pretty, dimpled smile. She's got that kind of innocence that's not typical of a woman in this type of world. She can barely meet my eye if I get too close to her and I find that a-freakin'-dorable. Never been with a black chick, that's for sure, but there's a first time for everything, right? Yeah, I'd have some fun with that one.

I rub at the stubble on my chin and fight against a yawn that's tugging at my lips. My hands go over my dark hair and I lean back in the wooden chair to take in the beautiful form of my favorite wife, Amber, who is currently modeling a few outfits I bought for her. We're in our room (best room in the leftmost factory) and I just had to see Amber try on some outfits I found back in the city.

"You look great, Am," I tell the beautiful woman. "Like a model."

Amber gives a small smile, but it's not a real one. I can tell when my Amber's smiles are real or not and this one is as shallow as a stream. I sit up in my chair and cock my head at her.

"Alright, what's the problem?" I question her. "You don't like 'em? I'll get you some more."

Amber fingers the silky material that ends right above her knees. She drops it and shakes her head. "It's…. It's not that," she admits. She raises her blue eyes to meet mine and tries again for a smile. "I'm just kind of tired, I guess."

I nod. I'm really trying my best to be the understanding husband that I am, but the girl can really push someone's buttons sometimes. I heave up and out of my chair and walk over to my wife. I capture her small frame in my arms and draw her to me. I pull one hand down her soft face, hoping to get a real smile out of her.

"You look beautiful," I whisper in her ear before planting a few kisses down her jawline. I can feel her body stiffen a little more with every kiss. I heave a sigh and release her. Amber offers another false smile up at me and journeys over to our bed.

She falls upon it and yawns. "Maybe a couple hours of sleep will make me feel a little better," she suggests, already pulling the covers over her body. The halo of light blonde hair that pools around her head makes her look just like the angel that she is. I walk over and brush a few stray hairs out of her face.

"Sure, babe. I'm going out. You get some sleep." I place a kiss on her forehead and she finally gives me a real smile. It sends my heart on a hayride, man.

I practically have to force my feet to take me out of the room. After grabbing Lucille (who could be considered wifey material herself), I shut the door behind me and head out to explore the rest of the Sanctuary. Sometimes I even find myself shocked at what a masterpiece this place has become. People here are the happiest type of folks you'll find in a post-apocalyptical world, such as ours. Families stay together, people fall in love; it's almost got a kind of Disney-feel about the place.

It's not long before I spot the little teddy bear roaming around. I see that she's pulled her wet hair back into a floppy ponytail. Adorable. She's really trying to kill me, isn't she?

Bree is talking to a guy known for handling electronics and the like, and he looks like he's giving her a hard time. She's holding up some device and trying to explain something to the man, but he won't listen. It looks as if he's about to end the conversation. Well, we can't have that, can we?

I wander over, casually swinging little Lucille around like the princess that she is. "Alrighty, children. What seems to be the problem?"

Both people look up at my approach. I can smell the fear radiating off of the electronics dude, but little Bree looks relieved to see me. I'll admit, it's been a while since someone looked at me like that. It brings a smile to my face.

Even so, it's the electronics dude who decides to speak first. "This little n****r girl doesn't seem to understand that things don't come free in life," he hisses while looking her up and down like she's less than dirt.

Bree's eyes widen and she lurches towards the man like a pro boxer that's just been given the bell.

"Excuse me, _sir_, but I never said I wanted any of your stuff for free. I have money. I'm willing to pay. But if you ever call me something like that again, I'll gladly give _you _something for free—"

I quickly grab onto Bree's shoulder with my free hand so that she can't take another step towards the man. She stops walking but I can see her jaw clicking from side to side as she grits her teeth together. She looks up at me with a confused expression carrying her features.

"I don't understand why he won't give me what I want…" she admits. "I've got money!" Her eyes narrow and she gives the electronics guy a venomous glare. "Unless it's because of another reason!" she shouts.

I can barely contain the hearty laughter that comes out of my mouth. Who would have guessed that the little teddy bear had a set of claws on her? Not me, that's for sure.

"Alright, Harry. Just give the girl what she asked for," I order with a lazy grin in his direction. "Something tells me that kitty will bite."

Harry looks distraught. "B-B-But…. She isn't…"

If there's one thing I don't like, it's someone questioning my authority. Racism is a close second, so Harry really has it coming to him. The smile disappears from my face as I yank up the scrawny geek by his collar and bring him close to my face. Beads of sweat pour down his pale skin. His Adam's apple bobs with nervousness as our eyes lock.

"Give the girl what she freaking asked for, Harry!" I roar.

The little man nearly wets himself when I drop him back to the ground. He fumbles around in his pockets before he retrieves some dangly cords and hands them to Bree. Bree looks shocked as she takes the object from his shaking hands. Harry runs away in the next second, a dark stain apparent on the back of his trousers.

I bellow out a laugh at the wet-seated geek. Man, I can't remember the last time I made a guy wet himself. High school, maybe?

I get the feeling that someone is watching me. I turn my head down and find Bree looking at me. I guess it's time to fill her in.

"Your money isn't any good here, Little Miss College," I inform the wide-eyed girl. "Name one store that hasn't been overrun with the undead and I'll take you to spend your money there."

Bree frowns at the ground.

I tap my head with my fingers. "Duh. Right, you've been freakin' _George of the Jungle_ for the past three weeks, right? Well, let me fill you in…" I casually drape my arm over the young woman's shoulders and begin leading her around the Sanctuary. It' bustling as usual, what with the hordes of people milling about, trying their hardest to secure a meal for today by trading.

"Money's not good enough anymore. Yeah, it might have ruled the world before all this crap went down, but now _it's_ total crap. You might find a few suckers who will accept it because they think all of this will end one day." I pause to shake my head. "They're idiots. No, we do something better around here. We barter. We sell stuff for more stuff."

"Barter," Bree murmurs at the ground, seeming lost in thought. She looks up again. "That's the exchange of goods or services without money, right?"

"Bingo!" I say. "College does teach you a little something, doesn't it?"

Bree smiles. "You never went?"

"For a few months," I admit with a half-hearted shrug. "Dropped out after I figured out it wasn't all booze and partying."

I smirk at the younger girl. "Suppose I wouldn't have gotten mixed up in those things if I hung around you, right? You look like the type to not have too much fun."

"Hey, I consider reading and listening to music a lot of fun!" Bree retorts with a slightly embarrassed snort. She looks down at the item in her hands that she got from Harry. I realize that she's holding a pair of earphones.

"Earphones?" I ask incredulously. "You were gonna bite his ears off for those?"

Bree laughs and pulls out a slightly dated cerulean-colored MP3 player. She turns on the device and plugs in her new earphones. She pops the buds in her ears and shuts her eyes. A moment later, a pleased smile seeps over her entire face.

"I haven't heard music in so long," she sighs while slightly swaying to whatever song she's listening to. I cock up one eyebrow when she takes out one of the earbuds and holds it out to me with a shy smile. I take it and put it in one of my own ears. I don't know what I'm expecting to hear flow out of the little bud, but I certainly don't expect to hear classical music. Beethoven? Really? This little girl is something else.

We listen to the piano music in silence. Man, this music really hits your soul. Kinda brings a tear to my eye. I glance over at Bree and find her eyes fighting against sleep. It's kinda funny to watch; the woman can barely stand up straight. Her hands are stuffed into the pockets of the black jacket I got her. Every so often she yawns and her chin starts to dip towards her chest.

After getting a good laugh, I nudge the battling woman. Her eyes snap wide open and she sputters out a laugh.

"I-I guess it's past my bedtime," she jokes with a series of blinks. She shakes her head and gives me a wide grin. "Thank you, Negan. For everything. You've really helped me out."

I go to answer, but the sensation of two arms wrapping around my midsection pretty much clamps my mouth shut. I look down. I'm shocked to find Bree hugging me. It's a quick hug, kind of like a girl would give to a guy friend, but it does the trick. I'm smitten with the college girl. I'm normally the person to initiate the touching, but this girl just hugged me like it was nothing.

She pulls away and immediately looks embarrassed. She looks around for something to focus on. Her hands brush at her long bangs and her brown eyes flitter about. Finding nothing to transfer her attention to, she decides to mutter out a quick, "Thanks again!" before she darts away. I watch her for a moment and then turn around. I hum the first few notes to Beethoven's Fur Elise, the smile still spread wide across my lips.

I'm pretty much sure of it now. Bree Evans can and will be wife number 10.

* * *

_Well, hot dang. Can't a girl listen to music with a guy without him assuming she wants to be his tenth wife?! Thanks for reading, everyone! See you with another chapter soon!_ _Oh, and we'll be meeting the actual Walking Dead cast **real soon**! I just wanted Bree to have her own backstory developed before she dove right into the fray with the big guys! :) Hang with me, guys! _


	5. Harry and the Boombox

_(A/N: I'm back! And sooner than expected! I really have no excuse for not putting these chapters up since they're already all typed up but I just don't wanna overwhelm you guys with chapter after chapter! _

_Speaking of chapter...here's a new one! And to my lovely reviewers...  
_

To **An Amber Pen**: Oh, it won't take much longer now... ;) And thanks! I don't like reading stories when the OC is just immediately part of the "gang" so I tried to give Bree a little backstory. We'll be getting glimpses of her life back in Florida throughout the book!_  
_

_**To Blueberry: **_

* * *

**CH. 5: Bree - Harry and the Boombox**

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**T**he change starts almost immediately.

Not even a week goes by and things have already started changing around the Sanctuary for me. People are practically shoving their goods at me. I can't leave my room without someone trying to give me a piece of bread or a new puppy. It doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out that something's changed. I'm not complaining at all; it's just…strange. From the way Harry acted about my earphones, I expected everyone to be just as tight-fisted with their belongings.

Speaking of Harry, I really want to find him. I'll admit that I feel kind of bad about the way things went down between he and Negan. I don't condone his racist and rude behavior in the least, but I feel like I cheated him out of his reason he starves. Plus, seeing a full-grown man wet himself has a lasting effect on a person.

That's how I find myself walking down the sidewalks of the Sanctuary, searching for the lanky electronics dealer. I find him in a lone alley, sniffing at some white dust in his hand. The blonde man startles when he notices me approaching him. The white dust goes flying around in a cloud of poison.

The lanky man curses and tries his hardest to capture whatever particles he can. He shoves what he manages to catch back into his pocket and fixes me with a glare.

"Whatcha want, gal?" he hisses at me from between his rotted teeth. He sniffs and rubs at his leaking nose.

I grimace. I have the mind to turn around and leave, but I don't. Instead, I pull off my duffel bag and set it on the ground. I squat beside it and dig inside, searching for the item. I pull out the small, portable DVD player and hold it out to the sniffing man.

His beady eyes study the white object before raising to meet my eyes. "What do you want for it?" he asks. "This is good for—"

"You take it," I interject. I smile at him. "Consider it payment for the earphones, okay?"

The blonde gives me a suspicious look. "You're tellin' me…you're givin' me this…for free?" I recoil in disgust when he spits near my shoe. "I don't buy it. What's the catch, petals?" He gestures at the flowery headband I have wrapped around my head today.

I shrug. "There's no catch..." I eye his outfit and spot a red handkerchief hanging out of his pocket, "…Red. I just feel bad about how things went down last week. Just please accept it, okay?"

The man sniffs again. I'm surprised when he reaches out and actually takes the player from my hand. He inspects it, quickly rolling the item around in his hands like a jeweler inspecting a diamond. He gives me a nod and a hint of a pleased smile.

"This is nice. Thank you kindly."

I watch as he puts the DVD player into his backpack. He zips it back up and hoists the bag on his shoulder. I do the same with my duffel bag. I give the lanky man another nod and turn to leave. I feel a little better now. I hope that can buy him a little something. The little devil on my shoulder is quick to whisper, "Like some new pants?" but I don't laugh. I'll wait until I get to my room to do that.

Harry's scratchy voice stops me in my tracks.

"He's crazy, you know."

I shift my bag around so that the strap rests on my other shoulder and then turn to give Harry a curious glance.

"Who is 'he'?" I ask.

Harry glances around and then gestures me closer with an inclination of his head. I look around and then step a bit closer. We're the only two in the alley, so I'm not getting too close to this guy.

Harry's filmy, blue eyes scan the area behind my shoulders before he licks his cracked lips and leans towards me.

"Negan." Harry's voice is barely a whisper. "The guy is a classified lunatic. You would do best not to hang around him."

My eyes narrow with confusion. Sure, Negan is a bit….weird but that doesn't make him a lunatic, right? In all of my time of living here, he's been nothing but kind to me. It's only been three weeks, but I'd say that Negan is the person I trust the most here. Whenever we find time to talk, I always have fun talking to the gentle giant.

Harry looks like he wants to say more, but Butch, one of Negan's best friends, pokes his head into the alley. It takes a lot for me not to like someone, but Butch has given me enough reasons plus one hundred more. The guy is a complete jerk. Whenever I see him, he's either harassing some poor woman or bullying someone smaller than he is. The muscular man, with his shaved head and dark eyes, is nothing more than an oversized schoolyard bully.

Butch grins at me and Harry. "Well, well, well…. What do we have here? A romantic reunion in a rat-infested alleyway? You could've picked a more romantic spot to sweep Shorty off of her feet."

I glare at the man, ready to tell him off, but Harry speaks first.

"We were just trading," he mumbles like a child being scolded by his parent. He brushes past Butch and darts out into the streets. I move to follow after him, but Butch steps in front of me. I look up at him. I hate to admit it, but the 6'4'' former Marine is especially intimidating at this distance.

"Negan is looking for you, Shorty," the towering man tells me with a malicious grin. "Better go and find him."

I bump past the man and hurry after Harry. "I'm around," I yell over my shoulder.

"He doesn't like to be kept waiting!" Butch yells after me, but I ignore him. According to Harry, there was a lot of other things I don't know about Negan, but I'm about to find out.

I catch up to Harry easily. He's paused at a corner to resume snorting up his white dust. I fold my arms and position myself in front of him.

"Y'know… drugs are bad," I inform the preoccupied man. "They taught you that in school, right? Don't tell me it's been that long. You can't be that old—twenty nine?"

Harry finishes snorting the last of his dust. His eyes flutter to the top of his head for a few, terrifying moments. When they come back down, there is a hazy look about them.

"Twenty five," he corrects me in a slow drawl. "Don't judge me. This stuff is the only thing keeping me sane right now."

I nod and look away to chew at my bottom lip some. "You," I begin nervously. "You said something about Negan being crazy. What did you mean?"

Harry shrugs. "We're all a little crazy, aren't we?"

That wasn't the tune he was singing earlier. Either he had short-term memory loss or our little run-in with Butch must have scared him. I open my mouth to call him out on this, but he gives me a silencing glare.

"Forget what I said, okay? Just forget it."

I swallow, which is painful due to my dry throat. "Fine," I give in. Harry looks relieved. He sinks against the wall we are standing by and pulls out a cigarette. He's really fixated on rotting his body from the inside-out, isn't he?

I decide to drop Negan's supposed insanity. Like he said, maybe we're all a little crazy. Some of us just show it a little easier than others. I lean against the wall beside him and sigh. "No one really has fun here, do they?" I note quietly. I take in the sights around me: the bustling people, the vendors, the animals. What I thought was lively when I first entered the Sanctuary is really nothing but people struggling to get by. No one really looks that happy. It's like a prison without bars—no one's trying to escape because they're afraid of what lies outside.

"Who has time for it? We're just trying to survive, not throw pool parties," Harry says between his desperate sucking at the white stick of tar between his lips.

My lips curve into a frown. I go to shove my hands into the pockets of my jeans but a smooth object blocks the entrance of one. I latch onto it and pull out my MP3 player. I smile a bit at the device before leaning my head back against the brick wall.

One of my fingers tap against the wall. An idea is forming in my mind. It's stupid, really, but I think it might be stupid enough to work. "Hey," I begin. "You wouldn't happen to have any battery-operated stereo systems, would you?"

**-o-o-o-o-o-o-**

It just so happens that Harry seems to have the entire Radio Shack at his disposal. He leads me to his place, which is really nothing more than a hole in the wall, but it has some of the best electronic devices I've ever seen inside of it.

Harry is obviously excited to be showing his collection to another human being. His blue eyes are lit up as he explains each product like he's showing off his very own children.

"Latest Apple phone," he boasts while holding up the sleek device. I marvel at the phone in his hands. I've never been this close to a high-end phone in my life. My family isn't exactly poor, but we don't reach the middle-class style of living. The phone in my duffel bag is reliable but it doesn't come close to the Apple phone that Harry is holding.

"Nice," I compliment. Harry beams and puts the phone back into a bag. He goes on to show me the latest headphones, more cell phones, MP3 players, and even flat screen televisions.

"There's not much of a demand for the ones that need electricity, but the ones that just need a few AA batteries really sell." Harry suddenly pulls out a boombox. He drops it in my hands. I'm so shocked that I nearly let it fall to the ground. I manage to catch it just in time. I marvel at the clean sound system in my hands. I shake my head and raise my head to thank Harry.

He holds out a hand. "Don't thank me. It's the least I can do for the DVD player. That little baby will feed me for a month." He pauses and rubs at his nose with his black-tipped fingers. The faintest hint of blush creeps up his pale neck. "Just consider it an apology for callin' you that name when we first met. I normally don't speak ill of people like that. I've just… changed since all of this craziness started."

I nod understandingly. I've changed myself, even if it doesn't feel like it's that much. I'm still Bree Evans, the slightly awkward, quirky drama kid with a crooked smile and long bangs that annoy me to no end. There's just that little tick, deep down inside of me that lets me know that something has shifted within.

"Hey, don't worry about it. It's all in the past." I clutch the boombox to my chest and smile down at it. There's an auxillary outlet in its side, so my MP3 will hook up to it with ease.

"You're Bree, right?"

Harry's question startles me. I look up to find him observing me curiously. I give a shy nod and return my gaze to the boombox.

Harry sniffs. "Had a little sister named Breanna. She was your age, you know. Got bit in the throat by a Puppet when the outbreak began."

I glance over at the man and feel my heart bend when I see that his dark eyes are filled with tears. He tries desperately to blink them away but this only succeeds in making them fall down his face.

"Harry…" I begin, but Harry starts talking again. His voice is broken.

"She had everything going for her, unlike me. She was in college, had a nice boyfriend, and her whole life in front of her. Me, I'm just a gadget-obsessed crackhead who dropped out of college after a month. Daddy said that I wasn't going to amount to anything. But Breanna…." He pauses to give a ragged laugh. "That kid was going to make something out of herself. I know it. And she believed in me. A billion people in this world and she was the only person who believed in me."

Harry breaks down in tears then. Now I can see him as he truly is; behind the mean words and the cruel looks, he's a shattered man who cares about people, especially his baby sister. The way he speaks makes me think of my older brother. I love him more than anything in the world. I wonder if he's thinking the same things about me.

I feel tears coming to my eyes as I step towards the crying man. My hand goes on his arm. I give him a light squeeze and a smile. He looks up at me, tears streaming down his face and snot dotting under his nose.

"Breanna would be really proud of you for keeping her memory alive," I smile.

Harry starts crying harder then and I'm surprised when his lanky arms go around me. Stiff at first, I eventually relax and pat his shoulder. I allow him to cry on me, feeling like a mother. The musty smell of tobacco goes ignored for now.

It takes him a while to get it all out. When he does, he wipes up his face with his arm and tries to look anywhere but my face.

"Thanks," he mutters. He fumbles around in his pocket and draws out another cigarette. He inhales for a long moment before blowing out a steady stream of smoke. He swipes at the remaining tears under his eyes and gestures at the forgotten boombox in my arms.

"What do you need that for, anyway?" he asks, still not meeting my eyes.

The flippant smile that touches my lips makes Harry smile back. "Do you want to help me with something, Harry?"

* * *

**Cerulean**: Harry! You're actually an okay guy!

**Harry**: Meh. *blows smoke in face*

**Cerulean**: Gah, why do all of you guys bully me? I'm the writer here! :'( Anyway, hope you enjoyed! What does Bree have planned for the people of the Sanctuary? And what will Negan think of it?

See you guys in the next chapter!


	6. Wedding Party

_(A/N: Another day, another chapter! :) It's time to see what plans Bree made with Harry and the plans Negan has in store for Bree! _

_Dearest reviewers..._

**An Amber Pen****: **Harry's just a teddybear! :D ...And a drug addict! Lol, no he really is a sweet guy, deep, deep, deeep down! :)

**umbrella0326:  
**Aw, you're always giving me awesome feedback! I'm glad that you like how I'm writing Negan. He's really easy for me to write for some reason! And you're absolutely right-I haven't put a really concise description of Negan down so I apologize! I'll go back in and add one into Ch. 3, when Bree first meets him! :) Haha, yesss, Butch and Negan are about to find out exactly what's going down...

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**Ch. 6: Negan – Wedding Party**

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**"A** freakin' _party_? You've _got_ to be freakin' kiddin' me."

When Butch tells me that there's some kind of party going on in the basement of the factory, I've got to admit—I don't believe him. Sure, I like a good party every now and then. Who doesn't? Booze, pretty women, drugs, music: my favorite things. Sometimes I'll even round up all of my beautiful wives and have them put on a show for the guys. It relieves a little stress, puts everybody at ease.

But the folks around here are a bunch of deadbeats—they wouldn't know a party if it swung and hit them in the face. All they do is scurry around like freakin' field mice, wondering where the heck their next meal is going to be, barely lifting their heads to talk to one another.

Butch, the old boy, is as stoic-faced as he's ever going to get. Brown-skinned, wide shouldered, and as big as a freakin' boulder, Butch is the type of henchman I like having at my side.

"I kid ya not, Leader," he replies.

I consider his words while running my fingers through Amber's beautiful, glossy hair. She's still sound asleep on our bed. She's been asleep for a long time, actually. If I didn't know any better, I'd say she popped a few sleeping pills.

"There's music and everything down there," Butch tosses in.

"Music!" I jump up from my seat now, a big grin on my face. I straighten out my black biker jacket and run a hand down my stubbly chin. "Now that's something I've got to see. Take me to it."

Butch obliges. I follow him out of the room after blowing a kiss to Amber. We walk down the dilapidated corridors. Rats and roaches scurry past our feet in droves. The sorry suckers don't even have the decency to keep to the darkest shadows. They slither over rocks and our shoes like they own the place.

"By the way," I grunt while flicking some dust off of Lucille's prickly form. "Did you ever find Baby? I need to ask her something."

Baby is the nickname I gave to little Bree. Dirty Dancing is a freakin' awesome flick and guess who Bree reminds me of? The little sweet-faced Baby, that's who. Intelligent in books and complete idiots when it comes to anything else, but cute as h #$: that's Baby and Bree in a nutshell.

Anyway, the plan is simple: Bree Evans is about to become wife _numero diez_. I've got nothing big planned. There's no need for a ceremony, or flowers, or the ring, or the sappy confessions. Remember: I've been through this crap nine times already.

It's more of a business deal, ya see. I bring the intended woman to my room and lay out what I'm offering in exchange for her to become my wife. The girls get 24-hour protection from the brain-eaters, the best quarters in the factory, and free stuff. Who doesn't like free stuff?

If they don't agree, the alternative is to join the freakin' rat race with the rest of this place.

See? I don't just take the girls. That's a big no-no in my book. My women have every right to decline my offer. It'll just be total hell on earth for them if they do.

Butch and I round a corner and start heading down a flight of stairs. Our heavy boots slap out a beat against the gray steps.

_Tap, tap, tap, tap..._

"Oh-ho, you are gonna love this, man," Butch chortles. "She was with_ Harry_."

"The electronics dude?" I ask incredulously. "This is gonna be good. Don't tell me Baby went back for round two with the drug-head, did she?" I laugh. "That would be an interesting fight to see, wouldn't it?"

Butch gives a shrug. "Didn't look like they were fighting. She was chasing after him like a puppy, actually. They were talking up a storm in some little alleyway when I found them."

I wave off his suggestive tone. "The girl probably wanted some more gadgets. You know how kids are with their phones and ! #$. Rotting their minds away and all that stuff…. _Hey_." I pause my descent down the stairs and lift up ahand. Butch stops and looks over his shoulder at me. I lift one finger in the air and twirl it around in circles.

"Listen to that music," I chuckle. "Looks like you were right. Somebody is throwing a party." I give a false pout. "Can you believe that we didn't get invites? Guess we're just going to have to crash the darn thing."

A grin spreads across my face as we make our way towards the basement.

**-o-o-o-**

"Well, put me on a spit and roast my #$!"

Butch and I stride halfway into the room, grinning at the ethereal scene before us. We stop on the outskirts of the dancefloor and simply look on in amazement. I fold my beefy arms over my chest and laugh.

Just look at my people, my low-down, good-for-nothing people, partying like they're at Mardi Gras in freaking New Orleans. Even old people are moving like they're young again. And whoever put on this little shindig is smart, too. The music is loud, but not quite loud enough to draw in the dead. I could barely hear it from one floor up.

After a few more minutes of watching, I decide it's time to break it up. I cup my hands around my mouth to form a makeshift megaphone and shout above all of the noise, "HEY, FOLKS! How's the party going?"

A hushed silence, save for the music, takes command of the basement. The dancing stops almost immediately. People shuffle from foot to foot and glance nervously at one another. The thumping bass from the boombox continues on without its dancing followers.

I step through the stunned crowd with Butch behind me, still chuckling to myself. "Come _onnn_! Why'd you stop dancing? Don't let me spoil the fun!" I drawl.

Suddenly, someone steps into my path. I look down and take in the 5 foot form of Baby. Instead of the fearful look I expect to find on her face, she looks like she's about to burst with excitement. Her brown eyes are twinkling and she can't seem to be able to stand still.

"Do you like it?" she asks with a bright grin. She gestures around at the different things used to create the party atmosphere. A pair of battery-operated strobe light boxes send streaks of green, purple, and blue light everywhere. Streamers hang from the ceiling and some people were even hitting a freakin' beach ball around. The red and white plastic inflatable is rolling around forgotten now.

The giant black boombox pouring out house music is situated in the back of the room, atop a foldout chair. Tables loaded down with refreshments organized in colorful arrangements are pushed to the sides of the room.

Bree looks back at me, still brimming with excitement. "This place is always so… dreary. I wanted to do something to see people smile again."

It clicks. The music, the excited eyes, the cerulean MP3 player dangling beside the boombox…

"Awwww," I coo, punctuating with a chuckle. I tilt my head and smile at her. "You set this up, Baby?"

It's almost too cute. Lucille was really itching to smash someone's head in for disturbing the peace of the Sanctuary, but she wouldn't want to hurt such a cute face, now would she?

Bree nods and gestures at Harry, who has come up to stand beside her. He winces and looks at the ground when my eyes move over to take in his ugly form.

The dude looks like a reject from _American Horror Story_. Gaunt rat face, dirty orange-yellow strands of hair hanging from the bottom of his pale, sore-ridden face, and eyes that look as hollow as the inside of a dead tree. He resembles one of the Meat Puppets more than a human being.

Drugs are bad, kids.

Harry sniffs and stares at the ground, too much of a coward to actually meet my gaze as I observe him.

"Harry did a lot of the work, too," Bree says with a bright grin. Her grin shifts into a smug smirk and she nudges Harry in the side with her elbow. "He's alright, when he wants to be."

I can't help but to notice the small smile Harry sends in the direction of Baby. Now, I'm not a jealous man, by any means, but something really irks me about seeing Harry look at her like that.

I guffaw and slap a hard hand down on Harry's shoulder. He flinches but manages to make subtle eye contact with me.

I wink at the shivering man. "Nicely done, Spongebob Wetpants," I croon. I give him another slap on the shoulder that causes him to stumble backwards. Bree catches the frail man's arm before he can fall. I laugh again and wave my arms around the room at the rest of the people. They're still frozen like the statues of Narnia.

"What happened to the party? Carry on, people! Raise the roof, dust the floor, do whatever the heck your generation brought to the dancefloor and left to die."

After a while, people do start dancing again. Harry hurries away and gets lost in the crowd and some pretty little filly catches Butch's eye. He darts after her, leaving me alone with Bree.

The party continues on around us but I stay focused on the young woman in front of me. I take notice of her outfit now: a black V-neck shirt paired with a rose-colored cami, jean shorts over a pair of long, brown legs, and a headband made out of plastic white and pink flowers nestled atop her black, curly hair. D #$, she's adorable.

She wrings her small hands in front of her before looking up at me with hopeful eyes. "So," she draws the word out like she's blowing a bubble with gum. "Do you…. like it?"

I scratch at my chin and pretend to mull it over. "What would you do if I said no?"

I'm unable to keep a straight face when her jaw drops.

"I'd be a little mad, since I did this for you!"

This catches me by surprise. I stop twirling Lucille and let her hang at my side. I observe the fidgeting, shy girl in a new light.

"For me, you say?" I chuckle off to the side and then lean a bit closer to her. My voice is volumes lower when I ask my next question. "Why would you do something like this for widdle ol' Negan, huh?"

Bree's neck starts to darken. The excited look shifts to nervous embarrassment. She grabs at her arm and shrugs. "I…. Well, I wanted to say thank you. You brought me here and saved my life, so…. I wanted to do something for your community. To say thanks." She chews at her bottom lip as she awaits my response. Her mouth is pushed over to one side and her eyes keep jumping from my face to the floor.

I'm a little stunned at first, to be honest, but I recover quickly. I take Bree's chin in my free hand and draw her lips against mine in one quick movement. I cover her soft lips with my own in a kiss. She tastes exactly like I imagined she would, like the sweet candy she's always eating and fruit-flavored gum. I'm not surprised when she doesn't really respond to my kiss. She looks as inexperienced in this stuff as a newborn is to walking.

I pull away and savor the shocked blush that has flooded over her entire face. Eyes as wide as her mouth, Bree tries to utter out something, but I think I made her mouth stop functioning. I smirk at her and kiss her again before she can speak, claiming her lips a little longer this time. She never does relax, the poor thing. She stays as stiff as cardboard. I smile when I draw away this time, but keep my face close enough so that our noses are still touching. I can feel her soft breath against my face. She looks up at me, eyelids fluttering from... Shock? Infatuation? Likely the latter.

"I _love_ it, Baby," I tell the reeling girl. Then, I decide to just go ahead and pop the question. You only live once, right?

"Will you marry me?"

If I were one of those really smart, intellectual types, I'd say that the face Bree Evans makes at this moment would be described as "shocked". Or "utterly astonished". Something big, like that.

"What…?" Her brows dig together towards the bridge of her nose and she tries to laugh. She shakes her head, trying to come out of the daze the kiss put her in. "Wh-What are you talking about, Negan?"

"You and me, girl," I sing while lightly tapping my index finger against my heart and then her collarbone. I bring my finger up to her chin, forcing her to look me in the eyes. "Let's do this. Be one of my wives."

She's still frowning up until the moment she realizes that I'm being serious. Then, her eyebrows raise higher and higher until I think they might climb right off of her forehead and disappear.

"You're…" She blinks. "You're being serious?"

I nod. "I wouldn't kid around about this, kiddo. Marriage is still a big deal to me, you know."

Bree suddenly pulls away from me and the blush that rose to her cheeks when I kissed her vanishes. She shakes her head.

"Negan, that's crazy." She spits out a laugh. "I'm only twenty. I barely know you, to be honest, so even that kiss was out of line. But, I'm flattered—"

"I'll give you time," I cut in with a tight smile. Okay, she may be cute but this chick is pushing my buttons. The leader of one of the last safe places on Earth gives you the chance to be his wife and you don't immediately accept? Maybe she's not as bright as I thought she was. The obvious answer to my question would be a "yes".

Bree tilts her head some. She looks concerned. "No, Negan. I don't need time—"

"Listen, Baby." I grab Bree's shoulders and jerk her to me so that she's certain to hear every word that's about to leave my mouth. The younger woman tries to lean away from me, as if she's scared. Hell, maybe she should be. I don't take rejection well.

"If you don't accept this, your life is going to turn into a living nightmare. The only reason you're living so cushy right now is because of me. I tell those vendors to pamper your skinny a&amp;# with food and clothes and everything a girl could ask for. I could make that stop. I could make sure that you have to struggle to get every crumb you're ever going to shove into your mouth. You know the only thing a girl like you has to offer the vendors around here? Your body. Now, maybe you should stop acting like a little girl and think like a woman. I'm your best bet at survival here."

Bree blinks but doesn't say a word. Her face seems to be frozen in that wide-eyed, horrified expression it's had for the past five minutes. I'll admit, it must be a lot for a girl to take in.

I hug the small girl to me, wrapping my arms around her body, and get a good whiff of her hair.

Strawberries. I exhale and then pull away from her. I give her a happy grin and a slap on the back.

"But hey! Don't feel pressured into anything, Baby. It's your choice. I'll come looking for you later to get your answer."

I release her. She stumbles away from me and nearly hits the ground but just manages to stay upright.

I give her a wink. "Great party, by the way. Enjoy yourself."

I turn and leave her then, still feeling her soft lips against mine. It's been a long time since I made a girl blush like that. Almost puts a skip in my step. The girl can't deny that she likes me. Her answer will be yes. The answer is _always_ yes.

But, there's another woman on my mind now. Amber hasn't been acting like herself lately. Maybe a party is just the thing to perk her up.

"Amber-baby!" I sing as I burst into our room. "Daddy's h—"

The greeting dies on my lips. Everything inside of me, every last little molecule that makes me up, comes falling apart as I take in the sight of Amber, my most precious wife, wrapped up in the arms of another man—her ex-husband, Mark.

* * *

_CR: Uh-oh. Things are definitely about to get real, you guys. Stay tuned for the next chapter, in which Sanctuary officially becomes a nightmare._

_See you then! ;)_


	7. Sanctuary Fallen

_(A/N: Hey guys! CR, reporting with a brand new chapter! And boy, was this one a real hoot to write! I just adored writing this chapter so I hope you guys have as much fun reading it as I did writing it! _

_Dearest reviewers..._

**enchantmentanjel**: Hi and welcome to the story! It's great to have you reading! Negan is a fun guy, when he's not talking to his baseball bat and forcing young girls into unwanted marriages! xP Seriously, he's an awesome character! Robert Kirkman did a great job coming up with him. We actually get our first glimpse of ol' Merle in the next chapter! And don't we all love ourselves the Dixon boys! I can't wait for them to show up either! :D

**umbrella0326:** Haha, Negan is really very intelligent! I haven't read much about him besides his Wiki page and a few pages from the comic, but he came off as a realistic sort of guy. He DOES make a lot of sense, in a way! Ooh, I love that description you used for him, too! Describes him to a brilliant "T", my dear! I decided to censor the profanity in this story because in the comic, Negan cusses. A LOT. I normally don't swear and I just don't feel comfortable putting that amount of profanity into the chapter without some sort of censor. :( Hehe, I giggled while writing that part too! Little known fact: Negan was the Surgeon General in a previous life. And here comes the next part you've been waiting for! As always, thank you for commenting! :)

**Savannah's Angels:** The wait is ovah! :D

**An Amber Pen:** LOL! Yeah, she should have stayed hidden in the bushes... OMG, a dramatic rescue from Merle would be awesome! He could come swingin' in on a vine or something! :P A fight between Negan and Merle... Who would win? ;)

_A marriage proposal, a scandal upstairs, and a very confused Bree Evans... Will she become part of Negan's harem or is it time to move on?_

* * *

**Ch. 7: Bree – Sanctuary Fallen**

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**I** can't move.

I can't move, I can't talk, and I can barely breathe.

Did Negan really just ask me to marry him? Not only that, but did he kiss me and then threaten to basically turn me into a prostitute if I said no to marrying him?

My head is reeling and not in the good way. Never in a million years would I have expected something like this to happen. I always knew Negan was a little off his rocker but what just happened proved to me that he might just be insane. There's no way I'm going to marry some middle-aged looney. Sure, he _seemed _like a nice guy, maybe even a friend, but that was before he tossed that ultimatum my way.

I release a low growl and push my fingers through my bangs, determined to get the lingering scent of Negan away from me. The way that he threatened me just makes my blood boil. My body is still shivering with fear from that unhinged look he had in his eyes when he grabbed me so suddenly.

I take a deep, shuddering breath to try and calm my frazzled nerves. I realize then that I'm the only person simply standing in the middle of a makeshift dancefloor packed with dancers. I'm drawing unnecessary attention to myself so I quietly withdraw from the dancefloor and head towards the boombox that Harry and I situated in a chair at the back of the room. I sit on the floor beside it and rest my aching head on the wall behind me so I can ponder what I should do next.

It's taking absolutely everything in me not to chase Negan down so that I can tell him exactly how I feel. But that would be stupid of me. He's right about one thing—without him, I'll be stranded. I have absolutely nothing to my name to trade with. The things I've gotten from the people can't be traded because I need them. If I ever wanted food again, I would have to find something to give them in return.

I shudder at the thought and look down at my twiddling thumbs. They roll, one over the other, like slender logs caught in a whirlpool. Even though part of me (the larger part) is angry at Negan, there's a small, tiny part of me that feels kind of… disappointed. I was beginning to think that Negan was going to be one of my best friends here. After almost a month of living in Sanctuary, hanging out with him formed some of the best memories I've made here. He's just so unlike me: carefree, funny, outgoing. It was hard not to smile when I was around him. He took me hunting with him and his men a few times, we went on walks through the forest together, and he would tell me these crazy, hilarious stories…. He was like the best guy friend I never had. Well, let's be honest-the only friend I've ever had.

Now he's forcing me to make a choice. I know I'm not going to marry him, there's no changing that. But becoming a harlot is out of the question.

Is the only option left to leave the place that's slowly become my home?

"Darn it, Negan…. What is wrong with you?" I mutter to the ceiling's cold, uncaring ears.

"Talking to yourself, petals?"

I look down and see Harry standing over me. The tall, skinny man with short-cropped yellow hair has a smile on his face for once.

I return his smile, even if it's only a small tilt of my lips. "Would you think I was crazier if I said I was actually talking to the ceiling?"

Harry snorts. "I'd say you're more sane than a lot of the folks 'round here." He squats down beside me, turning his back to the wall. We watch the party for a while in a companionable silence. People are actually smiling, actually dancing out there. It's nice.

I notice a group of women standing clustered together on the far end of the room, seeming afraid to join in the festivities. None of the people go up to them, either. The women are like a group of timid animals too afraid to cross the street to get to a better part of the land.

"Negan's harem."

I look over at Harry. He's picking at a sore on his face like a dog scratching at a flea, but his eyes are fixated on the women.

"Harem?" I repeat, just to clarify.

Harry nods. "Guy's as twisted as barbed wire. He goes around, picking up other men's girlfriends or girls that are all on their own and promises them all kinds of stuff if they agree to 'marry' him. It's like a deal with the devil. The poor guys can't even look at their girlfriends anymore, if they know what's good for them, and the girls are pretty much slaves."

My eyes go back to the women. A few of the men, maybe their past husbands, keep glancing their ways with forlorn eyes, begging them to look their way. They never do.

Realization finally hits me like a hammer driving a nail home: I might become one of them.

"Oh my gosh," I gasp, my hand on my forehead.

Harry doesn't even sound shocked when he speaks. "He wants you to be his next wife."

I nod and move my hand to my heaving chest. "Yes. How'd you know?" I ask.

"Hell, he's been leading you around with a leash since you came here. It was only a matter of time. We all knew. I tried to warn you."

I push my bangs away from my sweaty forehead and mutter a curse word. "I mean, what can I do? I don't want to marry him and become part of his harem but it seems like that's the only option I have left." Just thinking of "belonging" to Negan is enough to make my stomach swim with nausea. If I marry him, what then? What will he expect me to do? And would I have any choice in the matter?

"You need to get out of here," Harry urges. He turns his gaze on me and I immediately know that he's being serious. He grabs my wrist tightly and leans closer, close enough that I can smell his scent: a strange mixture of cough medicine and cologne. His eyes, aqua blue behind their constant glaze, narrow into thin slits.

"Just go out in the forest and run," he instructs. "Don't look back, not even once."

I stare back at him and let his words sink in. Living out there had been a nightmare. I don't want to go through that _ever _again but do I really have a choice?

"Yo, Electronics Dude."

Harry and I both look up at the same time when we hear the husky voice speaking in our direction. Butch is towering over us, wearing his usual smarmy grin that sends chills down my spine.

Harry immediately reverts into being that cold, shifty man I first met a few weeks ago. The laidback, kind of nice guy vanishes like he was all part of a magician's trick. Old Harry shoves my hand away, swipes at his nose, glares at the floor, then up at Butch.

"Yeah? What can I do for ya?" he grumbles.

Butch's grin grows. "Oh, we just need to have a little talk, you and I. You wouldn't mind following me, would you?"

Harry shrugs. He and I exchange a look before he climbs to his feet and dusts off the back of his jeans. In that split second, I can see that he's scared, even despite his put-on tough demeanor. Going anywhere with Butch is the last thing he wants to do. I can't blame him. Butch is nothing but a huge bully known for pushing himself on women and being a jerk to everyone else.

Butch points Harry in the direction of the stairs that lead out of the basement and Harry shuffles forward, posture slouched, hands shoved into his jeans' pockets.

Butch's onyx eyes fall down on me. His mouth shifts into a wicked grin. "Ya don't mind if I borrow your boyfriend, do you, Shorty?"

I fold my arms over my knees, lean forward, and give Butch a smile that I know will irritate him. "I don't mind at all," I assure him.

Butch snorts at me and then saunters after Harry. Eventually, they both disappear into the crowd of dancers. I look down at the floor and resume worrying about what's ahead.

Become part of a harem that belongs to a guy I barely know and be his slave or head back into the wilderness which is sure to be littered with the undead and uncertainty. I just don't know what to do.

Suddenly, I'm jerked back to the real world when a shrill scream breaks through the music like a window being shattered.

I snatch my MP3 out of the boombox, shove it into my pocket, grab my bag, and stand up. The dancing has stopped as if time itself has frozen. Everyone has formed a circle around something and terrified screams ring up from a few of the individuals. I try to break through the crowd and get to the center, but the people are too closely knit. But I don't have to be that close to understand the horror that is happening.

Lucille, Negan's precious barbed-wire wrapped baseball bat, is held high in the air above the heads of the people in the crowd that's formed. Blood drips down the wooden bat, running like red rivers down the powerful hands that grip her handle. Lucille is slammed down and a sickening crunching noise is heard. More screams from the crowd. Lucille is raised again, this time bearing pieces of pale, bloody flesh in her wires. She goes down again.

**_THUNK_****.**

Again and again, Lucille falls and rises, coming up bloodier each time. My stomach protests when I recognize a piece of human ear on her wire. Burning bile climbs up my throat and it takes everything in me to fight it back down. I want to move forward but fear, like a huge fist, keeps me held right where I am. I hold a hand over my mouth, gag, but my eyes refuse to leave the horrible scene in front of them.

Lucille could only be touched by one person and that person was Negan. Even if I can't see him right now, I know that he's the one holding her, that he's the one murdering someone while everyone else, including myself, stands by and watches.

When I hear a gurgled scream come from the center of the crowd, from the person being beaten to death, I realize then that I can't stand by any longer, no matter how scared I feel. I break away from my fear, tear down the mental walls holding me back, and rush forward.

"Stop it!" I screech. I shove through the crowd of stunned onlookers and fall to my hands and knees at the center of the circle. Immediately, I feel something wet against my hands. I sit up on my knees and hold my hands up in front of my face.

They're painted red.

I look down and scream when I see what's lying on the ground beside me, surrounded by a sea of blood.

Harry's cracked, splintered skull is bathed in red. Brain and blood gush out of the cracks and coat the floor in their gory mess. The gadget guru's mangled body, which is swathed in clothing made bright red by blood, twitches involuntarily. His one visible blue eye locks onto me and all I can see in their teary depths is Breanna, his baby sister.

A sudden gurgle sounds from his split lips, as though he's trying to talk to me. His hand twitches in my direction and he gurgles again. Red bubbles blow up from his tattered lips.

I utter out a half-sob/half-scream and reach for him. I know that there's nothing I can do for him, that he's as good as dead, but my body reacts without regarding my mind.

Before my hands can make contact with Harry's bloodied fingers, a rough hand grabs a fistful of my hair and yanks me back, away from Harry, and upwards. I scream out in pain as I'm lifted off of the ground with my feet kicking below me. Needles seem to dive in and out of my skull as excruciating pain explodes like fireworks throughout my scalp.

When I open my eyes, which were squeezed shut with pain, I come face to face with the blood-drenched visage of Negan. Red drips off of his distraught face and lands on mine in thick, wet splashes. We're both breathing heavily, one from fear, the other from…exhilaration, according to the wide smile he's wearing. Never in my three weeks of living here have I ever seen Negan look so evil. The built man, with his heavy, striking jaw, crinkled, blue eyes and charismatic grin always struck me as a gentle giant with a temperamental attitude. Now all I see is a killer.

"You killed him!" I shout.

Negan's bloodied face twists into a menacing grin. "Well, well, Baby! It seems all the women in my life are turning into lying skanks, aren't they?" Suddenly, his eyes become dark. He swings out his bat in the direction of Harry's dying form. "You two planned to be Amber's distraction, didn't you? You threw this freakin' party so that she could find the time to freakin' cheat on me, right?"

"Let go of me!" I screech. When kicking wildly doesn't get him to release my hair, I look to the crowd for help. "Please, someone help!"

No one moves a muscle. The people of Sanctuary are petrified. Even the people I recognize don't come forward. They stare at me with blank slates for faces.

I notice Butch grinning at me from the crowd. He waves the bystanders towards the door, ordering for them to get out. Everyone obeys, leaving me alone in the dark, cement room with Negan, Lucille, and Harry's body.

For a moment, we simply regard each other in silence broken only by spots of heavy breathing and Negan's maniacal snickers. The pain in my scalp is horrible. I can feel strands of my hair _pop, pop, popping_ out of place, breaking loose of the flesh, one after the other. I wince but refuse to break eye contact with Negan.

Remembering Harry's corpse and the brutal beating he went through just minutes ago makes rage course through my veins like fire. I grunt at Negan and scream at his face and kick at his legs with all of my might but this only makes him laugh at me. Eventually, I give up and simply glare at him. Tears blur my vision, twisting Negan's normal face into exactly what he is behind all of that charm and charisma: a monster.

"Now, don't go screaming, little college girl," Negan warns in a whimsical voice that doesn't fit with the bright blood running down his face. "I'm trying to have a civilized conversation with you. If you can't talk nicely to me, maybe you'd like to talk to Lucille instead?"

His fist suddenly releases my hair and I fall to the ground. Sobbing, I push myself up on my hands and knees and stare down at Harry's now lifeless body. Blood dribbles from the corner of his mouth and leaks towards the floor. His twitching has finally ceased.

"Harry…I'm sorry!" I sob hoarsely to ears turned deaf. I barely have time to register my despair at Harry's death because when I lift my eyes, I see Negan raising his bat above his head.

I scream and cover my head with my hands. I wait for the pain, for the blood, and the screaming, but it doesn't come. After a few more seconds of waiting, I dare to uncover my head and look up. I'm surprised to find Negan staring at me with his bat lowered.

He's crying.

"Amber," he bawls, one hand pressed to his forehead. "Why are you making me do _this_? Baby doesn't deserve to die, does she? But it's your fault!"

Suddenly, he's roaring and the bat is raised again. "Your fault, Amber! Your _freakin' fault_!"

I scream as the bat slams down on the cement, missing my body by only a few centimeters. I scurry backwards, away from Negan and bloody Lucille.

Negan wags a finger at Lucille. "Look, Lucille! You scared Baby! You've got to work on your _manners_, young lady," he scolds the bat.

I shake my head in disbelief as the weeping man continues to carry on a conversation with his bat. I use his moment of distraction to grab for the pocket knife that I keep in my duffel bag. I snatch it out and point it at Negan right as his attention comes back to me. His eyebrows shoot up and a smile crawls from one corner of his mouth to the next.

"Oh," he laughs once. "Oh, no, Bree. You do _not_ want to point that thing at me. Lucille gets really testy when you threaten her daddy like that." He goes to take a step towards me.

I quickly raise my knife, stopping him in his tracks. "Don't come near me," I hiss between gritted teeth. My hair is a mess and my hands are shaking uncontrollably. I probably look as insane as this man truly is.

Negan laughs again. "Oooh, look who's trying to be tough! First, you make a distraction for Amber to be with that freakin' scumbag of hers, and now you're threatening the person who saved your life a-l-l those weeks ago."

My knife lowers just a bit as his words sink in. I swallow and narrow my eyes at him.

Negan clucks his tongue at me and gives me a devilish smirk. "Now that's not how you should treat your future husband, Baby. Maybe I'll have to let Lucille teach you some manners after all."

Before Negan can take more than three steps towards me, a scream sounds from somewhere above us. Negan's head snaps up.

He screams, "Amber!" before taking off upstairs.

I stare after him. It only takes a few seconds for my body to get into action. There's no more time for thinking. My mind is made up.

I've got to get out of here.

I pocket my knife and gather up my duffel bag. Before leaving the room, I pause and say a quick prayer over Harry's body. His one undamaged eye has fallen shut now; he's at peace.

"You're with Breanna now," I murmur as a tear rolls down the bridge of my nose and falls against his face.

I want to stay a little longer, maybe try to get a few of Harry's belongings to keep his memory alive, but I know there's no time. Once I've finished praying, I stand up and run up the stairs and out of the factory.

It's chaos outside. People are still in a panic over Harry's murder. They are pouring over one another in a mad clash of limbs and bedlam in an attempt to either get to their rooms or get outside of the walls. I dive into the part of the crowd that's headed outside of the camp. We bustle together, pushing past Negan's men as they try to keep us from leaving.

Duffel bag clutched to my side and flowery headband slightly askew on my head, I struggle to keep up with the group. I have to get out of this place. Harry was right; Negan is a lunatic, a murderous madman, and none of us are truly safe here.

Suddenly, a gunshot rings out. Everyone freezes. All heads turn to see Butch standing in front of the open gate with his smoking gun raised.

The former marine lowers his gun and smirks at us. Sweat glistens on the dark hair above his upper lip. "Alright, everyone!" he shouts. "That's enough of that. Get back in your rooms until we get everything back in order."

When no one moves, he points the gun in the crowd and fires. An old, white-haired man falls to the ground, a scarlet rose in the center of his pale forehead.

The movement begins quickly after that. People scream and push as they fight their ways back towards the factory. But I'm not giving up. If I go back in that factory, I'm as good as dead. Negan's going to find me and kill me for whatever mad reasons he was spewing at me earlier. As much as I don't want to go back into the wilderness, I have no other option.

I fight towards the gate, urging others to go with me.

"Come on!" I yell at random people that I can grab onto. "It's right over there! It's not safe in here!"

No one listens. They continue backwards to the factory like sheep, back to the crazed man and his bloody baseball bat. I watch the crowd thin and ebb away until only I and a few stragglers remain.

Even though I'm terrified, even though my hands are shaking and I can barely breathe, I swallow my fear and decide to keep heading for the gate.

Butch's deft eyes find me in the waning crowd. A sinister grin snakes over his features as he raises his gun in my direction. His lips mouth the words, "Bye-Bye, Shorty" as his finger goes over the trigger.

Before he can fire, a group of terrified people accidentally knock him over. The bullet flies upwards with a loud _boom_, scaring a few birds out of their trees, while Butch curses and screams from his new position on the ground.

Acting fast, I leap over his squirming form and race right out of the gates. As soon as I've passed through them, I feel like I've broken out of a dozen chains that were keeping me prisoner. A weight lifts away from my pounding head and my sobs transform into cries of joy.

"Yeah, keep running, college girl!" I hear Butch yell. "The Meat Puppets will have your bony a## for dinner!"

I shiver at the thought but keep running. It's not until a new voice joins Butch's that my feet decide to stop where they are.

"Let her run, Butch! I love a good hunt!"

I tilt my head down, breathe towards the dark earth at my feet. Sweat pours from my forehead and dots the dirt black. I can't help it—I turn around.

There he is—Negan. He's a splash of black, white, and red against the iron gates of the Sanctuary, nothing more than a black biker jacket drenched in blood, a manic grin painted across a bold jaw, and two green eyes focused right at me.

Negan waves Lucille, still dripping with blood, at me. His other hand is wrapped around the shoulders of a beautiful woman. Or maybe I should say what's left of a once beautiful woman. The left side of her face looks like someone took an iron and placed it against her flesh for five minutes. Burnt skin surrounds a white eye that will never blink again because it lacks an eyelid.

The woman's body is slumped against Negan. For some reason, I know that this must be the Amber that Negan kept mentioning. Her good eye looks sullen and dead but it's trained on me. I can hear her even if she says no words.

_Run._

I try to listen, try to turn and get away from this nightmare, but my eyes won't let me leave without getting one last look at the man I thought was my savior. He turned out to be worse than any monster I've encountered so far.

Negan gives me a mock salute and one last wink. A confident grin is plastered on the burly man's face. "The Puppets won't get her before I do," he promises. His eyes are dead serious.

I take a step back as Negan's roaring laughter begins. Another step back and then I turn around and run, trying to escape Negan's laughter that follows after me like the bloody, rotten fingers of the undead.

"Bye-bye, Baby! I'll see you again _real_ soon! I've got quite the wedding reception planned for ya!"

I don't look back. Not even once.

* * *

_**CR**: Sha-bam! There we have it! Bree has escaped "Sanctuary", Negan's promised to find her and...and... Harry is deaaad! :((( *bawling* Right when he was changing into a good guy! _

_**Negan**: It's gonna take a s-load of bleach to clean up that blood in the basement. That stuff doesn't come cheap, believe-_

_**CR**: GET OUT OF HERE! *pushes out of story* I'm sorry to any Harry-fans out there... But the story must go on! Next time, we journey with Bree as she heads back into the wilderness-the **last **place she wanted to end up. Can she survive on her own? And who is that mysterious stranger in the woods? ;) I'll see you guys in the next chapter! I'll try to update over the weekend, if possible!  
_

_And if you're curious and want to add to your visuals of the story, my song choice for this chapter is **Civilian by Wye Oak (Acoustic Version)**. I just get swept up in the song when I imagine Bree wandering out in the woods, looking over her shoulder, wondering what she's going to do next... I hope it adds to the atmosphere of the chapter for you, too! Also, (and I should have mentioned this in the first chapter) Bree would ideally be played by **Keke Palmer**. She's just adorable to me and fits Bree really well._

_See you guys next chappie! :)_

_ **Yes, Merle Dixon is on his way! :)**_


	8. Back in the Wild

_(A/N: Hello, readers! I'm back with another chapter! Enjoy :)  
_

_Dearest reviewers..._

**Rasha007:** He's closer than you think... ;)

**enchatmentanjel:** Haha thank you! Negan is my crazy brother from another mother, it seems, because I just love writing for him. :P

**An Amber Pen****: **I'm trying to stick true with TWD's shock factor and those "omg, did they really just do that?" moments! :D Don't you love when TWD throws those awesome twists at you (except when one of your favorite characters dies *cries over Shane and Merle*) Bree's gotta learn fast but she's a quick study! After all, she's a drama major!

_And on with the story..._

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**CH. 8: Bree - Back in the Wild**

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**D**oubt comes with the cold breeze of the night.

I shiver in my light jacket and pull the soft fabric tighter around my body. It doesn't help much.

Somehow, I managed to survive those three weeks in the wilderness before but it hadn't been _this _cold back then. The knowledge of creating fire hadn't been necessary. Tonight, it was an absolute necessity. The cold was biting at every inch of my body like a teething puppy, keeping me from shutting my eyes and getting some much-needed rest.

I shiver as another round of cold wind pushes against me. I snuggle back in the rotted log I found for shelter and try to keep warm by rubbing my arms. If only my arms were two sticks. The termite infested wood makes a good shelter against the wind, but I can't help but to think that it might be better used as firewood.

Unfortunately, I don't know how to make a fire. I curse my lack of survival skills and snuggle closer against the wood. Negan offered to teach me some day. We were hiking through the forest together and he was busy listing off all of his survival skills. "Starting a fire was the first thing my old man taught me," he boasted.

No, not Negan.

My fingers curl in at the memory of the sadistic madman and I start to hyperventilate. I clutch at my face. My eyes bulge, my face grows hot, my breathing gets more rapid and shallow and suddenly… I'm back in the basement of one of the factories of Sanctuary.

Blood is spattered across the grey cement floor in puddles of red and drip down the walls in thick, bleeding lines. Harry's mutilated corpse is in the middle of the room, staring up at me. He's little more than mushy clumps of disheveled flesh hanging on to broken bones. His one blue eye is staring up at me, accusing me, yelling at me, screaming at me:

_**You** threw this party._

_I was killed because of **you**._

**_It's your fault._**

My hands and knees hit the floor. "I didn't mean for you to die, Harry!" I sob at the corpse. "I just wanted you to feel proud of yourself. I didn't want you to get hurt…!"

Harry doesn't bat an eye, doesn't move a lip, and yet I still hear him speak as clear as day.

_Liar._

The word bounces off of the walls and multiplies into a thousand "liar's". It fills the room like static, clogging my ears up until it's the only sound I can hear. I grab my ears and squeeze my eyes shut but I can still hear Harry, and this horrible squishing noise, and Lucille crashing down onto his body over and over and over and….

I scream.

I'm not sure how long my scream lasts but when I open my eyes, I'm back in the forest, still lying down inside of a rotted log.

My eyes dart around me, expecting to see the blood-soaked basement but only termites greet me. Their little white forms inch around the dead wood, oblivious to the nightmare of flashback I just experienced.

I break into uneven, ragged sobs that hurt my throat. Clutching at fistfuls of my dark hair, I rock inside of the rotten log and whisper, "I'm so sorry, Harry! I'm so sorry. It _is_ my fault…."

The hoot of an owl snaps me out of my hysterics. I sit up on my elbows and listen. Thankfully, nothing else makes a noise. The wind picks up again, blowing right through the opening of the log. I shiver and curl into a ball until all I can see is darkness.

Okay, Bree. Let's pretend we're at a beach, why don't we? There's sand under my feet, the warm, bright sun over my head, people clad in a wide variety of brightly-colored bathing suits, and the ocean's lapping at my toes.

I'm not alone in the middle of the forest with a crazy murderer looking for me, maybe even close to finding me. I'm not about to starve to death because I have absolutely no food with me. I'm not about to freeze because I never learned the most basic of survival skills.

I'm not the reason that an innocent man was savagely beaten to death.

I let out a strangled sob and shove my face into my hands. I don't expect any tears to come and they don't. I've cried myself completely dry. I just heave and whimper and shake.

Something rustles in the distance and it sounds big, much bigger than an owl. I lower my hands from my face and lean my head up so that I can hear a bit better. Another noise, this time closer. Yes, it's definitely something big, human-sized at least.

Oh no. Please, don't let it be Negan. Please, with all of my heart, I pray that it's not Negan.

A familiar groaning noise sounds through the clearing, followed closely by dragging footsteps. I relax but only for a moment. I know that it's a Puppet now but that's only better by a small margin. My scream from earlier must have drawn him out of the forest. I curse at my own stupidity and start thinking fast.

Quietly, I reach into the darkness for my bag. Once I touch its smooth surface, I plunge my quivering hand inside and fish out my pocket knife. I pull it in front of me and fidget with the thing until I get the blade to flip out.

Escape is my first and really my _only_ plan, never mind the flimsy knife in my hand. I've never actually had to face off with one of these things. I'm pretty sure it's going to take a lot more than just a little pocket knife to take down a Puppet of that size.

If it's a Puppet. I have to check and make sure.

I scoot to one side of the log and peer out just enough to get a glimpse of the clearing.

Sure enough, there's a Puppet. It's a giant one, too. He lumbers into the clearing like a baby just learning how to walk, smacking at the air, head twisting from side to side.

Ugh, these things are disgusting. This one's intestines are hanging out of his fleshy gut and flop around like a bunch of wet noodles. All of that excess weight causes him to stumble a few times, but he doesn't let that stop him. He wobbles to the center of the clearing and stops there. His nose goes in the air and he inhales. A second later, his dead eyes fall on my log.

Oh crap.

I quickly duck back inside and scramble into a sitting position. My heart is drumming away at my ribcage, ready to take the leap right out of my throat. I can hear the overweight Puppet making its way over to me. His excited, hungry groans are getting closer. I wrap my arms around my knees and whimper.

The world suddenly becomes silent. No more wheezing, no more dragging—nothing. I lean my head back against the log and mutter a thousand and two prayers to God, knowing that He's going to hear one of them. A tear finally falls out of my eye and drips down my nose. It lands squarely on my trembling bottom lip. I lick up the salty tear and continue to pray.

A pair of fat hands take a sudden dive into the opening on the left side of the log. They claw wildly in the air, trying to scoop out the meal they know that's inside.

Holding back a scream, I scoot away from that opening and position myself closer to the other side. I stare at the rotting wood above my head, my knife pressed against my chest. I blink away tears and try to keep my panicked breathing down to a minimum.

Please, just go away and leave me alone. Please don't—

I let out a shrill scream as the fat creature dives headfirst into the log. His short arms make a grab for my leg. He's able to latch onto my ankle, but I shake him off. I scoot away and try to crawl out of the opposite hole, only to find it blocked by yet another Puppet. Its rotten face snaps at my face and I'm forced to go back the other way. I scramble backwards, using the heels of my sneakers to push my body, and scream as the first Puppet grabs onto a handful of my hair.

I slam my hand over my mouth to stifle my screaming. I don't want to draw any more of these things. I wince as the monster gives my hair a sharp tug in his direction. My eyes widen as I see it lowering his salivating mouth to my exposed throat. Drool and brown blood drip on me in a disgusting fountain of muck.

Mustering up all of my strength, I drive my knife through the monster's chin. It shoves up through his mouth, stopping him from taking a chunk out of my throat. With a cry, I give the knife a twist and pull down, towards my waist. The monster only utters a low moan as his bottom jaw flies away from his face in a burst of spittle and gore. His giant tongue lolls out of his disfigured face now, dripping grossness on my face. He dives in for another try at my neck, never mind the fact that he might not be able to eat me without use of the bottom half of his face.

I scream again as my knife, now seeming to have a mind of its own, reenters his skull. This time, the knife enters his eyes. The monster utters a gruff growl and releases my hair. I use the moment to scramble away from him, taking my knife and his detached eye with me. The other Puppet still hasn't managed to get into the log, so I won't worry about him for now. All of my attention is on this guy.

My foot connects with what's left of his head. His head smashes against the roof of the log. My foot connects again and again until all that's left of his head is a mashed, bloody pulp. I give one final kick and split the roof of the log apart. I sink back and breathe heavily, taking in the damage that I caused to the creature.

My first kill. I don't know how to feel about it. I'm happy to have survived, but seeing that human shaped creature's still body steals some of my joy and exchanges it for guilt.

My stomach protests at the leftover brain dotting the log and I have to look away. I still have another Puppet to deal with, even if I don't like it.

It turns out that Puppet #2 is the least of my problems.

All of the racket has drawn more of the creatures out of the woods and they're all headed for me. There has to be at least twenty of them, stumbling out of the forestry and into the clearing.

I scramble out of the collapsing log and dash out of the clearing with my duffel bag in tow. I can hear the decaying bodies rushing after me. I dive through the woods, dodging low-hanging branches and upturned roots. The shuffling shrubbery and growls tells me that they're still hot on my trail. I continue running.

I'm just thinking that I've put a good enough distance between the Puppets and I when I find myself falling over another one. My foot catches on the Puppet's lying down form and I land flat on my face in the dirt. I spit the dirt away and scramble up on my feet. My hand desperately searches for my pocket knife.

I hold it up once I find it and point it at the cursing Puppet.

Wait… Cursing? Since when did these things learn how to talk?

I lower the knife as the "Puppet" climbs to its feet, still cursing at me. It's not until he opens his tired blue eyes that I realize that this thing is definitely _not_ one of the undead.

* * *

_Who could this blue-eyed, foul-mouthed stranger be? ;)_

_Thanks for reading and have a blessed day! _


	9. Our Part of the Woods

(_A/N: Hiii there! I'm back from the dead! Sorry that it took me this long to update! I've made some major plot change since posting this story online and I've had to go back through some chapters and rewrite a lot of parts (parts I haven't posted online yet)! I appreciate the patience from you guys! And thank you so much for all of the reviews on the last chapter! You guys are the best!)_

* * *

**Ch. 9: (Bree)– Our Part of the Woods  
**

* * *

"Hot d***, gal! You half-blind or somethin'?!"

I glance between the ticked off man I just tripped over and the bushes I just burst through. God only knows if those things are still chasing me or not. They could be just seconds away from lurching through the branches and leaves.

"Yo, Shaniqua! You got a hearin' problem?"

My teeth clench together when I hear the derogatory name come spilling out of this guy's mouth. I spin around, forgetting about the monsters for the time being, just so I can put this creep in his place. I was planning on being civil, but this guy just _had _to go there.

He looks like he's somewhere in his mid to early forties, with graying hair, a striking jaw speckled with stubble, and a pair of red-rimmed, aqua eyes. He's wearing a black leather vest over a dirty wifebeater and a pair of mucky jeans.

"You must have a problem with your brain if you're trying to go to sleep in the middle of a forest packed with infected people!" I snap.

"I wasn't sleeping, _darlin'_." The man spits the word "darling" out like it's made of battery acid and syrup. He rubs at his sleep-encrusted eyes and stifles a yawn. A moment later, he holds up his long rifle. "I was goin' huntin'," he explains. "Would of caught something too, if you weren't blazing through the forest like a wild monkey child on the loose!"

I poise my mouth to tell him off but something rustles in the bushes right then. A slimy Puppet crawls out from the forestry behind the man and starts limping towards him.

"Behind you!" I cry.

The man doesn't even flinch. In one fluid movement, he turns and pulls the trigger of his rifle. There's a loud bang before the creature's squishy head blows up like a firework made of blood. Its body crumples to the ground in a defeated heap and lies still.

He's… pretty good.

I watch in stunned silence as the man lowers his gun and spits at the slain monster near his feet. He chuckles loudly.

"Gotta be quicker'n that, ya dirty son of a gun!" he yells. He spits again and then rolls his eyes over to rest on me. His frown transforms into a cocky smirk.

"Now…what were you sayin', darlin'?" he asks.

I stand up a little straighter. I'll admit; I'm a little nervous now that I've seen his skills with a gun. My temperamental tongue has dried up and left me as weak and unsure of myself as always.

I rub at my arms, glance at the ground. "Nice shooting."

"Been practicin' nearly all of my life," he boasts. "Glad it's finally comin' to use on these dead son-of-a-guns." He pauses to draw circles in the air with his gun. "So, you gonna tell me what a kid like you is doing by herself in the middle of the woods?"

Not a kid, but I don't feel like arguing with a man holding a gun. Instead, I turn away from him and start walking in the opposite direction.

"Just passing through," I explain over my shoulder. "Just… just pretend you never saw me, okay?" After everything I just went through back at Sanctuary, getting mixed up with strangers is the last thing I want to do. Going forward by myself, unseen and unheard, is the safest choice.

"Whoa-ho, hold on there, gal!"

Quick as lightning, the older man somehow out-walks me and places himself directly in my path. He hooks his thumb in one of the belt loops on his jeans and tilts his chin up.

"What's your rush?" he asks. I take in his deep frown and the serious look in his sky-colored eyes. Trying to seem braver than I am, I sigh and cross my arms.

"Wh-what's the rush?" I repeat, almost unsurely. My trembling voice gives away how scared I really am, despite the tough demeanor I'm putting on. I don't want to get involved with this man or any other stranger. After Negan, I'm beginning to think that strangers may be worse than the undead.

Recalling the times I've been on stage for a play, I force my voice to go down an octave and twist my lips into an annoyed scowl. I clear my throat and try once again to seem as hard-a** as this guy.

"Those monsters are going to be here soon because of that gunshot," I grunt. "I'm getting out of here."

The man isn't fooled. "When someone says something like _'pretend you never saw me'_, it's usually 'cause they're hiding something." He leans closer to me. The bold stench of tobacco and alcohol hits me like a gust of wind. "You hiding something from ol' Merle, gal?" he whispers.

I fight away the urge to step away from him. Instead, I square my shoulders and look him up and down. "Who the hell are you? The gestapo? I'm just trying to get back to my camp. Now, get out of my way!"

"Merle" chuckles and spits by my shoe. "You ain't goin' nowhere, kid," he announces.

I recoil with disgust at the wad of tobacco near me and fix him with a sour grimace. I try again with the tough-girl approach, but facade is already starting to wane. "M-My people are looking for me. If they see you with me, they won't be happy."

"There ain't another camp around these parts," he explains, matter-of-factly. "My brother and I have been scouting through these woods for weeks and ain't come across another person. Tell me why you just so happen to be the first."

Darn it. He's smarter than he looks.

Doesn't look like I'm getting away from him without a fight. I take a few steps away from the man, hand already feeling around my waist for my knife.

"Just let me pass through," I plead. I'm letting the strong act go and instead go for the innocent pleading of a child. "I don't want any trouble."

"Well, you found it, Fun-Size, sneaking around here like some sort of wild animal!"

Merle is on me before I even have the chance to whip the blade out. The strong man spins me around to face away from, and twists my arm behind my back. I whimper in pain and try to pull out of his grip. This only causes the pain to intensify so I stop and simply start cursing at the man. The knife drops out of my hand and hits the grass.

"Let me go!" I scream.

"No can do, Sha-nay-nay." Merle's growling voice is right next to my ear. "You're too close to our part of the woods. You could be a thief or a murderer, huh? Now tell me why the hell you're here! You tryin' to steal our supplies?"

"I'm just a girl," I hiss back at him. "A girl looking for a family! Please, let me go!"

"Liar!" Merle roars.

"_Merle_!"

A new voice breaks into the forest clearing. A short, old man wearing what looks like a beige safari hat and khaki shorts storms up to us from out of the trees. The furry-faced grandpa quickly yanks me out of Merle's hands and pulls me over to him.

"You alright there?" he asks me. I can only nod stupidly at my rescuer. After scanning me over, Safari-Hat spins on Merle.

"What were you planning on doing to this young girl?" he demands.

Merle raises his arms out to the sides, a look of utter indignation on his face. "She's an intruder, old man! I was doing my rightful duty as an American to keep trespassers off of my property!"

"She's just a girl!" Safari-Hat snaps. "There's no need to treat her like she's a criminal!"

"Awright, grandpa, calm down! Don't get your knickers in a bunch!" Merle's attention comes back over to me. "We still need to take the little nigger in. She can't just wander off after seeing us!"

"We aren't a top secret organization, Merle. We're people, just like her," Safari-Hat declares. He looks back at me and his gaze softens somewhat. His grip on my shoulders tightens a bit. "I bet you're hungry, aren't you?"

Something about this kind, older man brings a sense of calmness over me. Even though I still don't trust them, especially not the Super Racist over there, I decide that I'll let my guard drop, just a little. The capped man doesn't seem to want to harm me and I see nothing but concern in his hazel eyes.

"….A little," I admit.

He smiles. "Well, we have just the remedy for that back at our place. I'm Dale, by the way. You think you can walk back with us? It's only a few minutes walk this way."

"I-I don't think that's a good idea." I remove the older man's hands from my shoulders and back away a little. "I don't…. I just want to keep moving, actually."

The two men share a look at one another. Dale steps towards me and I immediately step back. Noticing my movement, Dale decides to stop walking. He holds up his hands in a sign of peace.

"Look, you can trust us," he assures me. "We won't hurt you…anymore," he adds with a frown tossed Merle's way. Merle rolls his eyes and starts cursing up a storm. Both Dale and I ignore him.

"You seem really, really nice," I say, and I mean it. Dale seems like a great guy. He reminds me of my grandfather. But I don't know him. And I don't think I'll be able to step into another supposedly "safe camp" without remembering what happened back at Sanctuary.

"I'm looking for someone and I don't want to waste any more time," I finish. I smile at Dale, a crooked, hopeless thing that only lasts a few seconds on my dry lips. It vanishes instantly. I rub my arm and hope my eyes can convey the gratefulness that my mouth doesn't seem able to. "Thank you for your kindness, though. It really means a lot."

I turn on my heel and start heading for the trees again. As good as it felt to talk to people again, Merle is a perfect example of why I don't want to be around them anymore. People are unstable right now, myself included. I'm better off finding my family on my own.

Dale is distraught. I hear his heavy footfalls following behind me. "Maybe we have information on your missing people back at camp!" he tries. "We have food and medicine, too!"

I'm tempted to stop walking, but images of Harry's shattered skull push me forward. I feel guilty, though, since he's practically begging me. I hate to make someone as nice as he is worry.

"B-B-But, you're just a young girl!" Dale continues from behind me. "You can't wander around by yourself! Someone might try to hurt you!"

No sooner are the words out of his mouth when something large and heavy slams into the back of my head. I see stars, twinkling and glistening in my vision, and then I'm down on the ground.

I hear Dale cry out Merle's name as I lie there in the dirt, stars dancing in front of my eyes. Darkness begins to encroach upon my vision.

"Merle!" I hear Dale shout. "What have you done?"

The sound of Dale and Merle arguing follows me into sweet oblivion.

**-T-W-D-T-W-D-**

_"Hey, I didn't see you back there. Enjoy the show?"_

_The papers that were in my lap fluttered down to the ground in a flurry of white. I looked up from my lap and found Professor Brigham smiling at me from the stage. I bit at my lip and managed a nod. Face burning, I scrambled to pick up my scattered notes and then stood to my feet._

_"I-It was very interesting!" I raised my voice just enough so that he could hear my voice coming all the way from the back of the amphitheater. "I enjoyed it."_

_"Good to know!" Professor Brigham smiled at me and then gracefully leapt down from the stage,. I started feeling nervous when I saw that he was coming to where I was standing. I clutched my papers to my chest and prayed that my heart wouldn't fall out of my mouth. I never had the courage to talk to the young professor even though he was secretly my idol. _

_Only twenty-nine, Professor Brigham was one of the most popular professors on campus. He was funny and a little unorthodox, but it was one of my dreams to finally get the courage to audition in one of his plays. Every day after my classes were over, I would hurry to the amphitheater to catch his students practice for whatever play they were working on that semester. I was so jealous of Ava Blanchette, who usually was the starlet in every one of the plays. She was a magnificent actress, all but destined to one day be on Broadway or in movies._

_I told myself that I would get up on that stage one day. I would surpass Ava Blanchette and become a great actress and even write my own screenplays. But that day never seemed to come. Instead, I found myself furiously scribbling notes on the actors while watching them perform from the very back of the amphitheater._

_Professor Brigham finally made it back to me. Panting just slightly, the tall, lanky teacher wiped at his tan brow and grinned at me._

_"Whatcha got there?" he asked._

_I held the papers a little tighter to my chest. "Um, nothing really," I lied. "Just...stuff."_

_Mr. Brigham's laugh was infectious. "Doesn't look like 'nothing', the way you're holding onto them for dear life," he teased. I blushed and found myself smiling. Mr. Brigham smiled back and held out a hand. His warm, brown eyes made me feel a little more at ease._

_"Mind if I take a look?" he asked._

_I glanced between his hand and my papers. Finally, I handed them over. I watched nervously as the young professor flipped through my notes. I noticed that he didn't just skim over them. He actually read through them, sometimes mumbling words of agreement and noises of understanding. _

_When he finished, he didn't hand them back._

_"These are amazing," he said._

_I could feel my face heating up under his amazed stare. I looked down at the red flats I was wearing that day._

_"It's just some things I noticed the actors and actresses doing and I thought if they tweaked some of their lines and actions, it might flow a little better," I explained._

_Professor Brigham nodded. He stared at my notes a moment longer and then looked up at me._

_"How would you like to be my new assistant?" he asked with a glimmer of excitement dancing in his blue eyes. "I think a position just opened."_

**-T-W-D-T-W-D-**

The world comes back to me in bits and pieces, like a mosaic. It's a mash-up of cracks and broken chips, a disarray of colors and patterns that don't make any sense. I push out a groan and lean my head back. My head hits something long and thin and pole-like. I blink away my pain and finally, the world starts to make sense to me. Color washes over my broken vision, filling in the cracks like paint.

I'm in a tent.

I try to move my wrists but they are bound together tightly to the pole that's jutting against my spine. Oh no. I've been kidnapped.

As much as I want to start crying and hyperventilating, I know that won't get me out of here. I've got to toughen up and get out of here before someone decides to come in and check on me.

Pulling against my restraints bears no fruit so I look for another route of escape. The tent is empty, save for myself. It's a basic tent, made of little more than a piece of tarp and a few strong sticks. Realizing that what I'm tied to must be one of the sticks, I start to rock backwards. My back slams against the stick over and over. I can feel the stick starting to give away from the dirt it's jammed into. I smile victoriously and continue to hit at it with my back. If I move quick enough, I'll be up and out of here before the people who kidnapped me return.

Old, kind man, my foot. That old geezer and his raunchy friend kidnapped me. I knew I should have just kept running when I ran into that blue-eyed creep. You can't trust strangers anymore, you can't, you can't, you-

"What the hell you think you're doin', gal?"

I stop banging my back into the pole long enough to look up. Speak of the devil-the blue-eyed creep is back.

Merle stands at the entrance of the tent, seeming ready to beat the crap out of me. I resume my back-beating with even more vehemency. Merle strides towards me, squats down, and seizes my chin, forcing me to stop all movement. He squeezes tightly, causing my lips to pucker up. I glare at him, too angry and scared to even speak.

His squinted eyes don't move away from mine, not for a second. "Even if you escape, won't do ya no good. We got the place surrounded with sentries on all sides," Merle warns in his dry, scratchy voice. When I don't say anything, the corner of his mouth lifts. He chuckles. "Aw, you mad, Fun-Size? Shouldn't have been sneakin' around our parts."

"That's enough, Dixon."

Both Merle and I turn around to get a glimpse of the new entrant to the tent. A man I've never seen before stares back at us. I can tell immediately that he's in charge of this place that I've been brought to. He's got alpha male written all over him.

Seeming agitated, the new man rakes a hand through his load of curly, black hair and eyes Merle.

"I got 'er from here, alright? You can go back outside with others. I think your brother wanted you," he says. It sounds more like an order than a suggestion. Merle regards me with a snarky grin and then stands back up to his full height. He saunters out of the room with his eyes trained on the younger man the whole time. The other man doesn't bat an eye until Merle has exited the tent. Once he's gone, the man turns around and faces me.

"How you holdin' up, sweetheart?" he asks.

I pull at my restraints frantically but stop and look away once he begins to walk closer to me. I stare at the area between my feet, trying my hardest not to seem afraid. I can feel my heart thump-thump-thumping against my chest like the bass I used to love to have turned all the way up in my old car, the one my mom bought me when I started college.

What I wouldn't do to go back to the way things were before the world fell over on its side.

"Hey," I hear the man say. His voice is gentle and calming. I don't know why, but I get the feeling that he's had experience in talking to people in similar situations as I am.

I slowly look up at the man. He's squatting down in front of me now, arms balanced on his thighs. His face is near mine, but not close enough for me to feel too uncomfortable. At this distance, he seems slightly less intimidating.

"You don't gotta be afraid of us," he assures me. "We ain't gonna hurt you, I promise."

I move my wrists a little more but finally, I give up on the notion of escape. I'm not going anywhere. Resigned to whatever fate these new people have for me, I decide to just listen to what he has to say.

"What's your name?" the man asks.

I bite my lip to keep from answering. I doubt that names and identities hold that much power anymore but there's no point in risking it. Who knows-these people could be in league with Negan. One slip of the tongue and they could have me shipped right back to him.

"I'm Shane Walsh," the man says, once he sees that I'm not talking. "I used to be a police officer before all of this craziness went down."

Police officer. Yep, he makes a lot more sense to me now. The authoritative tone in his light voice, the way his dark brows stay in two thick, serious lines, and the unmistakable manners of a guy used to playing "good cop, bad cop"-they all point to someone in the force.

I just hope he stays in his "good cop mode".

Shane Walsh waits for a moment, waiting for me to say something. When I decline to speak, he chuckles.

"Southern customs say that this is the part where you give me your name," he explains.

I shuffle my feet together. Should I really give this guy my name? If he travels with people like Merle, I can't say that I'm too convinced of his trustworthiness.

"I'm... Ava," I lie. I just spit out the first name that came to me. "Ava Evans."

"Ava, huh?" Shane smiles. "Cute name. You got a family or a group you're traveling with, Ava?"

I decide to answer truthfully this time. I've already got a heavy enough conscience as it is.

My eyes drop down to the cross pendant resting at the center of my collarbone. "No. I'm alone."

Shane nods his head, seeming to understand my circumstances without me saying a word. He stands back to his full height suddenly. I have to crane my neck to see his face since he's standing at a close distance.

My eyes widen when I see him pull out a pocket knife, _my _pocket knife to be exact. He flicks out the blade.

Just as a scream starts to work its way up my throat, Shane walks behind me. There's a few, slight tugging motions against my wrists and then suddenly, they're free.

I pull my hands in front of me and study them. Although the rope left deep crevices around the wrist area, everything else seems to be in good order. I flex my dirty fingers in front of my face and then glance over my shoulder.

Shane smiles back at me. He holds out the knife.

"I believe this belongs to you."

Hesitantly, I take the knife from his hand and slowly slide it back into the pocket of my jeans.

"What's going on?" I ask, still wary of the officer and his plans. "You're letting me go?"

"Nah, even better. I'm letting you stay."

* * *

**CR: **Shane, Merle, Dale! You're all here! *hugs them tightly and sobs uncontrollably* Finally!

**Dale**: Poor girl. I hate to say it, but this girl might be a loony!

**Shane**: *busy shaving his head*

**Merle**: 'Bout time I showed up. I was fixin' to unfollow this story!

**CR: **Aww, but if you would have did that, you wouldn't be able to see all the cool stuff coming up in the story! Like zombie herds! Romance! Cannibals! And Daryl Dixon!

**Merle**: Who wants to read about my sissy of a brother?

**CR**: More people than you know, Merle. More people than you know. *hides Daryl Dixon fangirl items*

Anyway! I so hope you all enjoyed this chapter after the long wait! I'm really busy right now so I can't put an exact date on when the next chapter will be out but the wait won't be as long as it took last time! :) Hope you all have an awesome, blessed day! :D


	10. Among the Living

**Ch. 10: Bree - Among the Living**

**(Lol this title is pretty fitting for my reappearance on this story! Thanks to some encouragement from fellow writer and reader, I've decided to post some more chapters on this story! I am so, so, sooo sorry for those of you that I left completely hanging but, hey! I'm back! Which means I haven't abandoned this story! So, please, enjoy! :)**

* * *

Shane is the leader here.

I figure that much out fairly quickly when I'm led out of the makeshift tent I was being detained in. People, as bedraggled as I must look, all crowd around the tanned police officer, each of them wanting to know what he found out about me. Shane addresses them all in the calm, assertive manner required to be on the police force. Even though I still don't trust any of them, I find that little inkling of respect I have for Shane growing.

I cower behind the bigger man, keeping my head ducked low, not wanting any members of the crowd to catch a good glimpse of my face. These people could be associated with Negan, for all I know. That doesn't really seem to be the case, though, I'll admit. It just doesn't add up.

Firstly, judging by the looks of their rundown camp, these people just banded together recently, and purely for the sake of survival. There's only about twenty people here, a huge difference from the city Negan created. This camp basically consists of a few store-bought tents, a ragged RV, sticks, stones, and a burnt out campfire. Negan likes to live in style and safety, two things this camp is missing.

Secondly, Merle.

Negan wouldn't drag a lady anywhere without her consent (rather it was coerced or not) and he certainly wouldn't lay a hand on her without good (or what he considered to be good) reason. Merle, that loud-mouthed, annoying hillbilly, would never be allowed to be part of Negan's band of somewhat polite thugs.

So these people aren't associated with Negan. Good. I think I can actually breathe a bit easier now, despite the fact that I feel I may be suffocated by all of the people pressing in on me.

"Are we _really_ going to let her stay here?" A blonde woman with a pretty but sour face asks this. Her arms are folded across the front of her light-colored dress shirt. Her narrowed gray eyes stay focused on me.

"She's a stranger," she points out. "You aren't our boss, Shane. You can't make decisions for all of us. We can't just let her wander in from out of nowhere."

"Since the outbreak, _everywhere _is nowhere! Besides, she's just a young girl! Look how afraid she is," a familiar voice speaks up. I raise my head and see that it's the grandfatherly Dale who has spoken in my favor. He looks distressed when he sees the majority of the faces around him don't seem to agree with him.

"I'm one hunnit' percent with Blondie," another, less likable, but just as familiar voice tosses in their two cents. It's Merle, of course. He's sitting on a large cooler near the back of the crowd that's formed, grinning at me like the Cheshire Cat. "We've already got more minorities than we can hold around here."

This sparks fury from the other minorities in the group and pretty soon, Merle is arguing with a group of about five people. A younger man with similar features to Merle but darker hair stands beside the loudmouth, watching me with brown eyes filled with distrust. He's skinning a squirrel with his blood-covered knife but something in his eyes tells me that he's thinking the squirrel is someone else. Namely, me.

I'm starting to think about making a run for it.

"Now, everyone, calm down." Shane's voice rises above all, bringing a quiet hush over everyone in the crowd. Everyone besides Merle, that is, who yells, "Man, what now?"

Shane gives Merle a warning look before giving his attention to the rest of the crowd.

"When did our camp become so exclusive? Aren't we from the south? Where are our manners?" he asks.

"Manners went out the window when dead people starting trying to eat us!" the cranky blonde yells back. "This girl could be infected and we're just inviting her in for dinner!"

Talk about overdramatic. I chew on my thumbnail and sneakily glance around for a means of escape.

"Then, we just need to check her for bitemarks, right?"

A new voice enters the foray of bickering people, this one younger and less sure of itself. All eyes fall on a small, young man with jet black hair tucked beneath a worn-out baseball cap, who seemed to be just another face in the crowd until a moment ago.

Seeming a bit shy now that all of the attention fell on him, the young man shrugs and tries to keep his focus on Shane. His cheeks have turned the faintest hint of pink.

"Th-That's how it spreads, right? So, shouldn't we just check her for bites?"

Everyone begins to murmur again and I actually hear a few whispers of agreement. I'm not sure who this guy in the baseball cap is, but right now I'm grateful he decided to speak up. I would rather let them decide I'm innocent now so I can leave later rather than have them decide to burn me at the stake because of fear.

Shane nods and looks towards a dark-haired woman whose body is as thin as a pole. "Lori, round up all the women and take Bree here into one of the tents so you can check for bites. Make sure you're thorough. The rest of us will be deliberating on rather we're going to keep her or not."

The thin woman named Lori nods and then looks at me. Her eyes remain neutral; I can't tell if she's for or against me staying.

"Come on," she orders while jerking her head back towards the tent I just came out of.

I suddenly feel like a lost puppy being tested for rabies. Will they keep me? Do they want me?

I follow Lori and the five other women that trail behind her into the tent. We silently file into the big tent and then proceed to stare cautiously at one another. I continue to bite at my thumbnail as my eyes go from glaring at the women to watching my feet.

The blonde woman who spoke out against me so vehemently before is the one to secure the tent flap behind us all. She then spins around and faces me.

"Undress. Now."

I look at her as though she's sprouted two heads and a tail.

"E-Excuse me?" I sputter. "I am _not_ getting undressed in front of people I don't even know!"

The blonde steps closer to me until her nose is right next to mine.

"I'm sorry, did I say you had a choice?" she asks. Her voice is like ice. "Take. Off Your. Clothes."

I glare up at the older woman for a few moments just to be defiant, but eventually start removing my clothes. I keep my eyes glued to the floor and try to ignore the fact that my face is on fire.

A younger blonde girl, who looks suspiciously similar to the blonde that's still standing in my face, tries to add a beam of sunshine to the tent full of angry, suspicious women.

"We're all girls here, no need to be shy," she says with a kind smile.

Girls, schmirls. They're still strangers. But I guess now is not the time to be picky. I strip down to my black panties and cami and then stand there with my arms folded over my chest, trying to cover as much of myself as possible.

The women circle me like a pack of vultures, scanning every inch of me, prying at what little clothes I have on. I squirm around and stare at the roof of the tent, wondering all the while how in the world I ended up naked in a tent filled with strangers.

"She's all clear," Lori says after their inspection ends. She gives me a small smile. "You can put your clothes back on, hon."

"Thanks," I mutter. I'm already pulling my shirt back over my head. I pull my head through the hole and shake out my wild bangs, which flutter down over my eyes. My fingers push them aside, only to reveal Andrea glaring down at me.

She dips her head closer to me so that I can have a better few of her narrowed eyes. "Who exactly are you?"

The younger blonde and a woman with cropped gray hair pull Andrea away from me.

"Stay calm, Andrea," the gray-haired woman murmurs. I can tell right away that she's a mother, judging by the worry lines creased into her forehead and her soft, kind voice. "Dale is right; she's just a girl."

"Yeah, what's your problem, sis?" the sweet-faced blonde asks. "She's so tiny! It's not like she could hurt any of us."

Andrea shakes off the two women but seems to have calmed down somewhat. She shoots me a glare and then looks back at the other women.

"I know, Amy, I know. It's just…. I like what we have here. I don't want anyone messing that up for us."

"I don't want to mess up anything for anyone," I assure her. A mental image of Harry flashes in front of my eyes and I grimace. I press my hand against my sweaty bangs. "I just… want to find my family," I mumble. Right then, my stomach, which has been ravenous for days, decides to let everyone else know of its mistreatment by growling at them.

Sympathy flashes across Andrea's silvery eyes and I see her body relax, if just by a small bit. After a brief moment of hesitation, she reaches into her pocket and tosses me a granola bar, which I just barely catch. I fumble it around some before claiming a good hold on it. I stare at the wrapper a moment, drooling over the prospect of strawberries 'n cream entering my mouth, before I cast a cautious look up at the fiery Andrea.

"Let's go tell the others that she's clear," she says.

Everyone files out after Andrea, faces a bit less somber than they were when they entered. I'm among the last to leave the tent. The gray-haired woman brings up the rear. As I'm fumbling to zip up my jeans, my granola bar drops to the ground. I'm about to reach down to retrieve it when a pale hand swoops in first and grabs it.

I stand back to find the gray-haired woman holding the bar out to me. She's wearing an apologetic smile and is struggling to meet my eyes.

She holds the bar closer to me. "Here," she offers, still unable to meet my eyes. "You should hold onto this. It seems as if you haven't had a good meal in a few days."

I take the bar from her hand and return her smile.

"Thanks," I say. "I'm… Ava. It's nice to meet you, ma'am."

The woman finally meets my eyes and her smile grows a bit wider.

"You can just call me Carol," she says.

She puts a supportive hand on my shoulder and guides me out of the tent, which is exactly where I come face to face with the muzzle of a shotgun.

* * *

**Thanks to all who r&amp;r'd last chapter! 3 I will start back with answering your reviews next chappie :)**


	11. Scared of Others

**Chapter 10:**

_**Bree – "Scared of Others"**_

* * *

Merle's finger is on the trigger. His pale, chapped lips crack into a strangely excited grin after he spits off to the side.

"So?" he asks while his blue eyes slither over my terrified face. "What's the verdict on our little forest Walker? Was she hiding bites?"

The women surround Merle in a heartbeat, forcing him to take a few steps away from where I've been petrified by fear.

"Merle, what the hell is wrong with you?" Andrea yells. She's not afraid to get right in his face, almost nose to nose.

"Put that thing away!" Even meek Carol is upset.

Suddenly, the gun is knocked out of Merle's hands and lands with a thud a few feet away from us. All eyes are trained on the gun. I stare at the weapon, thanking God that it didn't go off. My hand flutters to my chest. My heart is beating double-time.

"Merle, we do _not _point weapons at each other here." Shane, having been the one to knock the loaded gun away, stands in between Merle and I. The two men stare each other down for so long that nervousness is literally eating me up alive. These two are obviously in some sort of power struggle, one always having to be the one to come out on top.

Finally, Merle backs off. He takes two steps away from Shane, hands raised in a "harmless" sort of way. A twisted, sardonic smile is carved across his thin lips.

"No need to get worked up, Deputy-boy-toy," Merle says, still grinning like he thinks almost blowing my head off to be the funniest thing in the world. "Didn't mean her nooo harm, none at'tall. Just tryin' to keep our group safe. That's what you asked me to do, wasn't it?"

Shane's steely glare doesn't soften, not for a moment. "Just watch yourself, Dixon."

Merle's eyebrow quirks upwards and the corner of his mouth twitches with laughter, but he doesn't say a word.

Shane turns around to face me. I'm glad to see the anger that was pulsating in his hazel-colored eyes has faded away. He shifts his gaze over to Lori. It seems like she's second-in-command here, at least in Shane's eyes.

"So, what's the verdict, ladies?" he asks.

Lori smiles. "She's clean. No bitemarks whatsoever. As healthy as any teenager could be, just needs to get cleaned up and get some food into her."

A collective sigh of relief flows through the camp and I suddenly go from rabid outsider to poor, interesting orphan in just a matter of seconds. People crowd around me, asking questions, demanding answers, and completely destroying the meaning of "personal space".

"Welcome to our camp," Baseball-Cap grunts as he manages to break through the crowd. At this range, I can see just how young he is. He can't be much older than me, twenty-three, max. He's got a friendly face beneath his head of jet-black hair and a nice smile that shows his top row of pearly-whites. "I'm Glenn, nice to meet ya!" He extends his clean hand for me to shake.

I look down at my own grungy hand, smeared with dirt, blood, and God knows what else, then offer up a bashful smile.

"Sorry, I'm a mess right now. I've been in the woods for a long, long time. I probably smell and look completely gross right now."

"What were you doing out there alone?" There goes the question I've been dreading since I first laid eyes on Dale and Merle in the woods. A short, squat man with broad shoulders, a micro goatee, and a mean set of black brows is the one who asks this. He watches me carefully but he doesn't seem hostile, like Merle. Just curious.

The rest of the crowd has fallen silent as they wait for me to answer his question. My dry tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth. I swallow and force myself to keep eye contact with the man who asked the question.

"I was separated from my family when a horde of monsters swept through our neighborhood," I lie, making sure to keep a straight face. "I've been wandering around, looking for them since that day."

They don't need to know about Sanctuary. They don't need to know about Negan.

"Poor thing," I hear Amy murmur.

Shane claps his hand down on my shoulder and gives me an encouraging smile.

"We all know what you're going through. We've all lost a friend, family member, or loved one here," he explains. Then, he smiles. "Since we have you on the spot, why don't you introduce yourself to everyone?"

Great. It feels like I'm about to give a presentation in high school, except it's ten times worse, since these people were contemplating my death just moments ago, and could possibly still be.

I look around at the sea of faces that surround me and clear my throat. "My name is Ava Evans," I begin. The name still feels false on my tongue but I hope no one notices the little furrow in my brow when I say the name. "I'm originally from…" I pause for a fraction of second to rack my brain for cities in Georgia. "…Savannah. But, like I said, I had to leave once the monsters showed up. I was in the forest for days when Dale and Merle found me."

"Why didn't you want to come back here with us? You seemed so scared." Dale asks another question I've been dreading.

I bite down on the inside of my lip. "I've learned not to trust strangers I meet in the woods," I say.

The worry lines in Dale's forehead deepen. "Smart girl. You never know what weirdos you might find out there nowadays."

I think of Negan, of loyal Lucille swinging by his side, of a Sanctuary that was actually a disguised boot camp.

"Yeah," I agree. "Exactly."

Dale studies my face, as though he notices something about me for the first time, but seems to bite his tongue on whatever the realization might have been. Instead, he smiles and says, "I think I can say that we're all glad you're safe and, quite literally, out of the woods now, even if the process of getting here wasn't a very nice _or _wise one." He gives Merle a stern glare, but Merle isn't paying attention. He's too busy sizing Shane up and rubbing at the stubble on his own wide jaw. He's moved back to his position beside the squirrel-skinning guy who still hasn't said a word. Judging by his frown and the harsh movements of his increasingly bloodied knife, he's just as pissed off at me being here as Merle is. There's something about Merle and that guy (let's just call him Squirrel Man for now, for lack of a real name) that just seems… different to me. I've noticed that they seem to keep their distance from the rest of the camp members, like they aren't really part of the camp.

After scrutinizing the two defensive men, I look back to Dale and nod. "No hard feelings," I lie. The back of my head is still throbbing. There are _plenty_ of hard feelings towards Merle Dixon, with that dirty mouth of his and big, balding head. But as much as I want to give him a piece of my mind for bashing me in the back of my head like I was some type of criminal, I won't. I don't want to give anyone here any reason to think I'm threatening and decide to keep an even closer eye on me. That would make it that much harder to get the heck out of this place.

"So, uh…," I look around at all of the people surrounding me and rub at my goosebump-ridden arms. "It was nice meeting you all but I should really get back on my way…."

I shift from foot to foot when everyone starts to give each other confused looks.

Andrea steps out of the crowd, head tilted to the side, her loose blonde ponytail hanging above her shoulder.

"You don't want to stay, kid?" she asks. "We've got plenty of room here. I know we're not the best-looking bunch of people but it's safer being with a group than out there in those God-forsaken woods."

I blink at Andrea in shock. I wasn't expecting her to want me to stay, not after how she was treating me earlier. After a moment, my eyes drop back to the ground and I slowly shake my head. "I-I really couldn't stay," I say. "I need to head to Florida to find my family and I… Well, I'm just not looking to stay in one place. Thank you for offering, though."

"You can't just go back there into the woods, all by yourself!" Dale insists. He looks around the group for some support and receives a couple replies of agreement. He looks back to me, eyes squinted with worry. "Yes, your family could be out there but you might not be able to find them on your own! We can _help _you!"

I can feel myself caving at Dale's heartfelt words. This man doesn't even know me yet he wants to help me find my family? Maybe I was wrong, maybe there are some good people left after all. Maybe I don't have to do this alone.

The corners of my mouth start to quirk upwards a bit and Dale stares at me, silently urging me to respond.

"Who says we're gonna help her?"

Merle Dixon suddenly shoves himself into the gap of space where I stand surrounded by the rest of his camp. He saunters slowly up to me then swirls around to look at the others.

"She ain't no friend of mine! I don't know if you all have went temporarily blind or are just dumb as hell but the dang mother of all apocalypses is happenin'!" Merle continues, while spreading his arms out wide. "We gotta look out for our own! Make sure _we're _taken care of!" He draws his arms down and pounds his hands against his chest." We don't got time to go lookin' for little Bo Peep's family of lost sheep. Hell, they could be _dead_ for all we know!"

I swallow. It takes everything in me to hold back the tears his words bring to my eyes. I can feel my hands shaking so I draw them to my sides and take a deep breath.

"They aren't dead!" I yell back. "I know my family is alive and I don't _need_ anyone's help in finding them!"

I bump past Merle, who immediately starts slinging a slew of derogatory names my way, but I ignore him as I storm towards the giant tent I'd been tied up in earlier.

I find my backpack resting near the back of the tent. I snatch it up, exit the tent, and start marching right towards the woods, pretending not to notice the upset look on the campers' faces.

"We can't just let her go running back off to the woods! She knows our location now, man!" I hear Merle yelling behind me. "What if she tells somebody about us? We could be gettin' swarmed by her people in no time at all and all of our food, clean water, and everything else is gonna be gone!"

I don't even look back. Anger keeps pushing my feet to carry me further and further down the hill where their camp is located and closer and closer to the forest down below. I can already feel the slightest bit of trepidation trickling in though; I have no food, no water…. I don't know how I'll survive out here. But I'm too angry to listen, too scared of people to turn back. I keep going.

Suddenly, I hear footsteps coming behind me and the hair on the back of my neck stands straight up. Not again…. I refuse to let that redneck touch me again.

I whip around to face Merle, my knife already drawn. But instead of Merle, I see that it was Shane who came after me. The tall, tan man looks down at my knife, then back up to me. He doesn't seem scared of the knife, not at all, but he raises both hands a little, anyway.

He heaves a sigh. "Look, I didn't come down here to hurt you, alright? Please lower your knife, Ava."

I keep my knife raised. "I won't hurt you either, but I'm going to continue from here on my own. You all seem like a good group of people, but I… I really just can't handle being around other people right now." My voice cracks at the end of my sentence and I feel the back of my throat burning, a sure sign that tears were on the way.

Shane nods his head, and I can tell he understands how I feel, even if it's just by a little.

"Now you can leave, ain't no one here gonna stop someone from making their own choices," he relents. "But I just came down to offer you the chance to at least stay the night here with us. Let's be honest: I looked through your bag and you don't have a thing in there that's going to help you survive against the elements or the Walkers."

It takes me a moment to realize that by Walkers, he means Puppets. Embarrassed and defeated by his logic, I grab the straps of my backpack and pull them forward but refuse to meet this cop's eyes.

"I'll survive," I hope out loud.

"No, you won't," Shane disagrees. "You won't last more than a couple of days out there. At least consider staying with us tonight, let us give you some food and water and then, in the morning, we'll point you in the right direction to Florida. That's where you're from, isn't it? Not Savannah."

I open my mouth to lie but close it quickly. Crap, I had accidentally blurted out that my family was in Florida, hadn't I? After a moment of hesitation, I look up at Shane and give a quick nod.

"Then let us point you in the right direction to Florida in the morning. You'll do much better out there after resting up here."

I study his face, trying to find something there that will tell me he's lying, that he has ulterior motives. I find nothing but the face of an honest man who wants to help.

I decide to let my hackles drop. I put away my knife and nod.

"Okay," I say. "Thank you."

Shane lowers his hands and nods back, seeming a little relieved. "Thank you for letting us help you out, Ava," he says. "With the way the world is now, we need to look out for one another."

He approaches me with a smile which I timidly reciprocate. He puts his hand on my shoulder and starts walking with me back up the hill to where the rest of the camp awaits. I keep my eyes on the dirt and grass instead of the camp members as we arrive back to their safe site.

"Oh, thank God," I hear Dale say.

"She gonna stay?" Merle asks.

"Just for tonight," Shane explains from his position by my side. "She's got a long trip ahead of her so we're going to take her in tonight, gather her up some food and water make sure she gets plenty of rest."

I keep my eyes on the ground as he talks, refusing to meet any of their eyes. I'm glad Shane's doing all of the talking. I couldn't speak right now, even if I wanted to. My throat is clammed up by fear and my hands are shaking so badly that I have to fold my arms to keep anyone else from seeing just how afraid I am.

"Well, that's all fine and dandy!" Merle snaps. "Let's take the poor little innocent stranger in, give her some of our supplies, then pat her on the back and send her off into the forest so she can get her buddies to come back and steal the rest of our supplies! Bulls***!"

"It's not gonna to be that way, Dixon," Shane argues. His voice is still calm, still assertive, but I can tell there's an edge there now, most definitely caused by the loudmouth of the group. "I'm getting tired of you running your mouth like you know s*** about how to run this camp. I started it up and I'm gonna be the one to take care of it. She's staying the night. That's final."

It's gone so silent around the camp that it gets too unnerving to not have my eyes on the action. I peel my focus off of the ground and glance between Shane and Merle, who seem to be having some sort of eye war against one another. If eyes could speak, I'd be running for cover from either one of these deadly stares. Everyone in the camp is watching in pure silence. I see some of the men shuffling closer to the two, ready to jump in if anything does pop off. Squirrel Man strides up beside Merle and aims his own cold glare at Shane, clearly picking a side if a fight were to start.

Thankfully, Shane breaks the tension by looking back down at me. "Ignore Dixon. Apparently, no one ever taught him any manners growing up," he jokes. This causes the rest of the camp to chuckle lightly and some of the tension lifts away from the circle of people. I grin at Shane and he smirks and gives a quick wink in my direction.

I think I'm actually going to like this Shane guy.

"Can someone get some food into our guest?" Shane says after turning his attention back to the camp.

"I can heat you up a thing of biscuits and gravy," Carol says, stepping up to me. She gives me a tight but genuine smile. There's a little girl standing beside her. She's hugging tightly to Carol and looking shyly up at me. I give the girl and her mother a smile.

"Thank you," I say, returning her smile. "I'd love that."

Carol's smile becomes a little less tight and she nods her head towards the small fire that's been burning nearby.

"This way," she softly says.

Seeing that I'm being taken care of, Shane nods at me and then walks back towards what had to be his tent, the large white one I was held in. He steps past Merle, who still hasn't removed his narrowed, angry blue gaze from the cop. Once Shane moves past him, Merle laughs once and then lifts his eyes to catch me staring at him. A chill goes down my spine when, instead of cursing at me like I expect, a wry, dangerous grin spreads over his mouth. He and Squirrel Man take off down the hill, heading back towards the woods, and leaving the rest of the camp behind.

* * *

_Thanks for reading and thank you to all who have reviewed, fav'd, and followed during my hiatus! I feel incredibly guilty for not updating this in so long but I hope you enjoyed this chapter. I enjoyed reading your reviews while I took a break from fanfiction for a while. You guys are awesome ^^_


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